When the Wind is Southerly
by EllieMurasaki
Summary: How different could things have been if, on August 7 1993, Sirius Black had gotten to 4 Privet Drive before Harry Potter left? Borrows from whydoyouneedtoknow's Dangerverse.
1. Prologue to the Omen

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from why­do­you­need­to­know, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 1: Prologue to the Omen

Saturday, the seventh of August, 1993, started out as an ordinary day.

For much of the world, it would remain an ordinary day. Most people would never be able to look back and think that there was any difference between August sixth, seventh, and eighth, save the usual differences between Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Certainly most people would have little if anything to distinguish August seventh from the Saturday before, or the Saturday after.

But some lives changed on Saturday, August seventh, 1993. Even if those whose lives changed didn't know it at the time.

The children's librarian in a certain town in Surrey, for example. On August seventh, she checked out eight books for five children, a personal low. But then, it _was_ a Saturday, most children wanted nothing to do with books on Saturday period, and it _was_ early August. The just-got-out-of-school finish-homework-early-enjoy-rest-of-summer kids were all long finished, the school's-starting-next-week oh-my-god-must-do-homework kids were nowhere near starting, and Greater Whinging didn't have a summer reading program, no matter how hard anyone tried to get it in place. Too much bother for the librarians or something, and never mind that all the work would fall on the children's librarian, who, being the one doing the most pushing for the summer reading program, was volunteering. In any case, she spent most of the day rereading Anne McCaffrey's _The White Dragon_, with occasional breaks to push her brown curls out of her eyes.

The librarian's ten-year-old son, also, thought he was having a perfectly ordinary day. A good fraction of the adults sniffed in distaste at the sight of him, which was annoying but unavoidable. If they didn't want to believe that it was neither his fault nor his mother's that he'd never known his father, that was their problem. The area children tended to echo their parents' opinion of him, which was one reason why, whenever his mum was at work and he wasn't at school, such as today, he could be found curled up in a chair in the corner of the kids' section of the library, nose firmly entrenched in his book du jour (_Prince Caspian_ today, for the umpteenth time) and blue eyes absorbing every word.

The librarian's elder brother and sister-in-law the dentists and their bushy-haired bibliophile daughter weren't precisely having an ordinary day—who, while on holiday in France, could? Their day was no different from that of any other British tourist in Paris that day, though very few of these tourists could see the newspaper rack the girl stopped beside for a moment. She made sure to keep the newspaper tightly rolled and tucked under her arm till they had reached the privacy of their hotel room and she could translate the world news articles at her leisure; very few people, tourist or native, would _not_ be astonished to see how the pictures in this newspaper moved, and getting accosted by too-curious people would interfere with her being able to read the news from England. The news of the past week was...worrying, to say the least.

Equally worried was one of the girl's two best friends, this one on holiday with his family in Egypt. At present this flame-haired horde was swarming a bazaar in Cairo. One young man, who had burn scars on his arms, was examining a golden dragon figurine. Another adjusted his glasses so as to better appraise the display of necklaces, though he was distracted from this by shouting at his rowdy twin brothers to behave. The small girl had her arm around the tall young man with a ponytail to match hers as he explained the hieroglyphics in a particular cartouche to her. A balding man and a plump woman, obviously the parents of this miniature population explosion, stood hand in hand where they could keep an eye on every one of their scattered offspring.

The young man in question scowled at his family. None of them were overly concerned about the news that had arrived a few days earlier. Hell, his _rat_ seemed more concerned about it than they were! But then, there was a fair distance between Egypt and England, and it wasn't _their_ best friend with his neck on the chopping block. The bastard in the newspaper had blown twelve innocent people to bits to make sure the one he was aiming for was dead; why would he balk at killing a thirteen-year-old boy?

Or, for that matter, an eleven-year-old girl or a thirty-five-year-old woman. It was fortunate, thought the woman, that that madman had no idea that her daughter existed. Or rather, no idea _yet_. He would come for her eventually, she was sure. Come for them both. He'd as good as killed his best friend, his almost-sister, had meant to see his godson dead; he _had_ killed their other friend, bravely—suicidally—trying to avenge his friends. Why not go for a clean sweep? Kill the child he'd orphaned, kill the woman he'd betrayed, kill the friend whose friends he'd killed before, and kill his daughter as well, the minute he learned she lived.

The girl in question had no trouble deducing her mother's train of thought. Nor did the betrayed man she was thinking of, though he had not seen her for most of twelve years and was nowhere near her now. That train seemed to have quite a few stops.

Another station on that track was in London, where a white-haired schoolmaster conversed with a scarred veteran, his neon-green-haired trainee, the lion-like Head Auror, the monocled Head of the DMLE, and the pirate-like Auror whose personal assignment it now was to track down and capture this madman before he could harm anyone else, least of all the Boy Who Lived. The schoolmaster had already taken one step to ensure the boy's safety at his school, namely, hiring as his Defense teacher the one man who could best predict the murderer's actions. Now he intended to be sure the boy would live long enough to reach the school.

The twin centers of all the worry were blissfully unaware of the fact. One, half-starved, half-crazed, and on the run, was headed south through Surrey to exactly the place no one wanted him to go, far sooner than anyone expected him to get there. The other, at his destination, was quietly mopping up the spaghetti sauce his cousin had managed to spill on the kitchen floor.

_One more evening,_ was the only thought behind Harry Potter's emerald-green eyes at the moment. _One more dinner. One more night._

Then he just had to sleep in next morning, or pretend to, and Aunt Marge would be _gone_, and he'd be shut of her quite possibly for always, and Uncle Vernon would have to sign his permission slip, and he'd be able to go to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione. Uncle Vernon couldn't blame him for the spilled spaghetti sauce, nor for the delay in getting dinner cooked caused by mopping up the kitchen, nor could he _prove_ the exploding wine glass had been magical in nature, and there hadn't been any other, ah, missteps. Nor would there be, because the kitchen was done now and he was retreating to his room for the rest of the afternoon...

THUD.

"MUMMYYY!"

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!"

_So much for that idea._

Dudley, it turned out, had slipped and sprained his ankle. In punishment, Harry was being confined to his room for the afternoon and evening and denied dinner. That was good, even with having to go hungry, but as Harry headed to his room, Uncle Vernon had cornered him and very pointedly tore in half the Hogsmeade slip.

_Not good._

On the bright side, no more Aunt Marge.

Not that that was much of a bright side.

Harry stared out the window and watched the clouds go by.

Some time later, Harry was summoned to clear and wash the dishes while the Dursleys conversed at the dinner table. The topic of conversation was, naturally, himself. Apparently it hadn't occurred to them that he could hear every word. Or else that was the point.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day," said Aunt Marge, gulping down brandy. "Bad blood will out." _Somebody ought to introduce her to Malfoy. There's bad blood. _"Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia—" _Sure you're not._ "—but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families." _Define 'best families'._ "Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us." _You don't say._

It was really quite fortunate that he had dishes to wash. He could attack the dirty dishes instead of her. Else she'd probably be a big red splat across the wallpaper.

"This Potter," Aunt Marge said loudly, splashing more brandy into her glass. "You never told me what he did?"

"He—didn't work," Uncle Vernon said with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."

_Uh-huh. Sure._

"As I expected! A no-account, good-for-nothing—"

_What was that?_ It had sounded like the door clicking open...

"—lazy scrounger who never did a day's honest work in his life—"

_Neither have you, now shut up. I'm trying to listen._

"—burden on the decent, hardworking members of society, and now he's left us his brat who'll be just like him—"

_Right. Definitely going to investigate. If only so I'll get out of here before I kill her._

"Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you, boy! Get back here!"

Harry, two steps out of the kitchen, fixed a polite expression on his face and turned to face her. "Were you speaking to me, Aunt Marge? I was under the impression that you were having a private conversation that didn't include me."

That took her aback. She'd certainly spent long enough going on about how he willfully ignored the rules of polite society; why did it shock her so that he was obeying them?

"You insolent little whelp!" Not for long, unfortunately. "When your elders and betters speak, boy, you _listen_!"

"I thought you were having a private conversation," Harry repeated, keeping his voice as polite as he could force it. If nothing else, a polite voice was quieter than an angry one, and therefore easier to listen over. "I thought listening to private conversations was impolite. Consequently, I wasn't listening."

"Don't you tell me what's polite and what isn't!" _Ha. Touché._ "Just like your worthless parents, aren't you? Don't give a damn what anyone else says—I bet that's your life's ambition, to be just like your father, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"As a matter of fact, it is," Harry said steadily. There was a funny prickling on the back of his neck... "There are worse ways to be."

"Worse?" Aunt Marge demanded, on her feet now. "_Worse_ than being a drunkard, a thief, a vagrant, a scoundrel?"

"Excuse me," Harry said as calmly as he could manage (not very). "Whatever gave you the impression that any of that was true?"

"Whatever gave you the impression it's not?" She was advancing. "You obviously need to be taught manners, boy." She raised a fist—

—And a skeletal hand stopped it in midair.

"Lay a finger on him and you will live just long enough to regret it," growled a voice just above and behind Harry's head.

_Uh-oh._

Aunt Marge froze in place. Dudley looked like he was about to faint. Uncle Vernon seemed petrified. Aunt Petunia was dead white and trembling. Harry turned slightly in place, just enough to see the man behind him, and felt his blood run cold.

_It's Black._

Black's gray eyes slid from Aunt Marge to meet Harry's. "Go get your Hogwarts things and anything else you don't think you can live without," he ordered.

_How does he know about Hogwarts?_ "W-what are you talking about?" he asked, beginning to edge towards the kitchen. The tremble in his voice didn't need to be faked.

Black dropped Aunt Marge's arm, which fell limply to her side. "I'm getting you out of here, of course. I'm not leaving you a second longer with these people." His voice sounded hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in years.

_Now where was that attitude ten years ago, when it might have been useful?_ "So you're kidnapping me. What if I don't want to go?" Harry was into the kitchen now, Black was turning towards him—away from the others. Who weren't taking the cue to run.

Black frowned. "Can't imagine why you wouldn't. She was about to crack your skull open, if you hadn't noticed."

"I'd sooner be bruised than dead," Harry retorted. Right along the counter, now...

"Now that sounds like James Potter's son," Black said, with a bit of—was that approval in his voice? _Okay, this is getting weirder by the second._ Not that it mattered— "You're a Gryffindor, of course."

"Griffa-huh?" Harry asked, plastering a confused look on his face. _Nearly there..._

"Oh, don't give me that. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?"

_Now!_

Harry snatched the newly cleaned, still-wet butcher knife from the counter and dove for Black—blood spattered—a bony hand closed around Harry's wrist—Harry wrenched free and grabbed that arm with his free hand—

Black thudded onto the floor, Harry on top of him, with the knife pressed to Black's neck. A slash along Black's jawline was bleeding freely, but it didn't look like it had hit anything important. Black's right arm was pinned under Harry, who was holding tight to his left one. Breathing hard, heart still pounding double-time, Harry shifted so he was kneeling on Black's chest and looking him straight in the eye.

"I don't want to kill you," Harry told him. "I already mopped the floor once today, I don't want to get your blood all over it and have to mop it again. So I suggest you stay still."

Black closed his eyes and began to laugh, a shuddering, choked, entirely mirthless laugh. A trickle of blood ran down from where the edge of the blade bit into his shaking neck, but he didn't seem to care.

Harry glanced at the Dursleys out of the corner of his eye. Under any other circumstances, the shocked expressions on their faces would have been priceless.

"Just push down on the knife and get it over with," Black said, still laughing. "Should've known it'd be you who killed me. Shouldn't surprise me at all."

_What is he talking about?_

"Now might be a good time to call that hotline, Aunt Petunia," Harry advised. Aunt Petunia got to her feet, still trembling, and slowly began to dial the number.

"Do it, boy," Uncle Vernon ordered abruptly. "World needs fewer people like him."

Harry turned his head to meet Uncle Vernon's eyes, meaning to say, _If I do, what does that make me?_ But the moment his eyes left Black's, he found himself flying into the wall, knifeless and with a very sore wrist.

The phone, its cord cut, clattered onto the floor.

_Stupid,_ Harry thought bitterly. _It makes me stupid._

Black was standing against the back wall, one arm tightly around Aunt Petunia and the knife pressed to her neck with the other.

"Now, everyone do what I say, and nobody gets hurt," Black said softly.

_This is not good._

"You three—" He jerked his head at Vernon, Marge, and Dudley. "Don't move a muscle till I say you can. Petunia, the same. Harry—" Black turned to look straight at Harry, sprawled across the kitchen floor. "Why don't you run upstairs and grab your things?"

Harry scrambled to his feet and pounded up the stairs. He was two steps toward his room when a much better plan occurred to him. He ducked into the master bathroom to grab a hairpin, then vaulted the stair railing to land, catlike, in front of his cupboard.

Which was not visible from the dining room.

The lock was open inside of two seconds. Harry kicked open his trunk, snatched his wand off the top and yanked his cloak from the side, threw the cloak over himself, and dashed back to the dining room.

The tableau was frozen exactly how he'd left it. Harry took three steps in, careful to step on no one's toes, aimed at point-blank range at Black's head, whispered "_Petrificus_—"

—The wand was yanked from his hand.

"Nice try, Harry." The cloak came flying off into Black's face, and he let go of Petunia to tuck it under his arm, though she didn't dare move because of the knife at her neck. There was a thump to the left, quite possibly Aunt Marge keeling over and dying from the shock of seeing someone appear from out of nowhere in the middle of the room. Harry lunged, grabbing for cloak, wand, knife all at once—twisted the knife from Black's right hand—ducked away from the wand tip as Black hissed something Latinish—dragged Black's arms apart, twisted his wrist till something cracked, pushed Aunt Petunia away—

"Run!" Harry yelled to the Dursleys. The word broke their attitude of frozen fear, and none of them wasted any time getting out the back door. Vernon and Dudley were considerate enough to haul Marge out between them. But in the second Harry took to shout, Black whispered a spell Harry couldn't duck in time. The air around him seemed to thicken to the consistency of molasses—or was it that his body simply became too heavy to move with its usual ease?

Movement was still possible, if just barely, Harry discovered a second later. It took entirely too much effort, and a crippled turtle could have outrun him, but movement was still possible.

"Stubborn little son of a gun, aren't you?" Black asked, his voice admiring. "Sprained my wrist, too." He felt the offended body part, pressed too hard, and hissed something indistinct. "Make that broke my wrist." He transferred the wand to his unhurt right hand and pointed it at his left wrist. "_Ferula_." It bandaged itself, sloppily. "I suppose that'll do to be getting on with. Now, let's try this again, and don't do anything stupid this time."

Black switched wand hands again, picked the knife off the floor and stashed it in a pocket of his ragged gray robes, put the wandless hand on Harry's shoulder, and (presumably with magical aid, since Harry was having difficulty moving on his own) steered him out of the room.

There was a red stain on the tile, Harry registered dimly on the way out of the dining room. Shaped unmistakably like the heel of a shoe. And another, just where he'd had Black pinned, half looking like a blob of ketchup and half like a heel print. No wonder Black had seen him coming.

And Black was a wizard. This complicated matters. A skinny thirteen-year-old wizard with his wand in hand had an incalculable advantage over any Muggle, however strong and well-armed, but a wandless teenager had no hope against a full-grown fully-trained wizard with a wand.

"Why is your trunk under the stairs?" Black inquired.

"Uncle Vernon doesn't like magic," Harry explained sullenly. His mouth wasn't afflicted with the same sluggishness as the rest of him, but he was not in a mood to be cooperative. Even if cooperation was the best option at the moment. Certainly it beat dying hands down. "Most of my schoolbooks are upstairs, though. I have to get my homework done whether Uncle Vernon likes it or not."

"He doesn't know you hijacked your books, I take it."

"Of course not."

The trunk floated up level with Harry's waist. Black lit the wand (_He didn't say Leviosa. He didn't say Lumos. He didn't say anything. I wonder if I could do that?_) and peered around the inside of the cupboard, grabbing Harry's broom. "A Nimbus Two Thousand? James would kill for a broom this good."

"Draco Malfoy's got the 2001," Harry commented. "I still whipped him good last year at Quidditch."

"You're a Chaser, then?" Black inquired, sounding almost friendly, as he steered Harry up the stairs, trunk and broom trailing behind. "James was—one of the best."

Harry tried to shake his head, but stopped—it took too much effort. "Seeker," he corrected. "Might've set a school record in the Hufflepuff match, it didn't last but five minutes. I've got the room with all the locks on the door."

Black flicked the wand, and the door flew open. "Bit hard on your things, are you?"

"That's Dudley's stuff, not mine," Harry corrected. "My stuff's all under the loose floorboard under the bed. Third from the left." The board popped up, and the full pillowcase came flying out to thump into the open trunk. "And Hedwig's cage is in the back of the wardrobe." It came flying out. "That's everything I've got."

Black raised an eyebrow, but latched the trunk and transfigured it and the cage into miniature versions of themselves, which went in his robe pocket. The broom went over his shoulder.

_Pop._

_Pop-pop._

_Pop-pop-pop._

"Timing is everything," Black muttered. He grabbed Harry's arm. "Hold on tight—"

_Crack._

Everything went black—the blackness pushed in all around him—couldn't breathe—

A moment later, when he could force air into his lungs again—no time to look round before he was being squashed through the blackness again. A glimpse of dark waves on pale sand—a vague impression of dark tree shapes—nothing but air and cloud and falling—rocky mountain path. Air. Blessed, blessed air.

Black let him go. Off-balance and unable to move quickly enough to correct it, Harry tumbled face-first onto the solid ground. Something sharp, probably a rock, encountered his cheek, setting it to stinging.

"What was that for?" Harry demanded a minute later, when he thought he'd gotten his breath back.

"I just hopelessly confused our Apparition trail," Black explained, breath heaving but with a note in his voice rather like the tone either Weasley twin had when letting Harry in on a prank they'd pulled. "The Ministry folk will have no trouble picking up that we went from Surrey to Cornwall, and less trouble than that following us there. It won't be hard to track us from Cornwall to Calais, either. But before they can go investigate where we appeared in Calais, they need permission from the French Ministry, which may or may not be forthcoming."

He seated himself on the ground, still talking. "If they get that in a timely manner, it will be difficult but probably not impossible to tell that we went to the Black Forest—at which point, of course, they need to get permission to investigate from the _German_ Ministry. And if by some miracle there's enough of a trace left there to track us from Germany, the last place was two hundred feet above the English Channel. It'll take a miracle just to find the spot we Apparated from, and the magical traces have already blown away. We aren't going to be followed here."

Harry absorbed that quietly. So that was how Apparition worked. The airless blackness was everywhere and nowhere at once. Sort of like _between_ in Anne McCaffrey's Pern stories, except no telepathic dragons. "I suppose I'm not allowed to ask where we are."

"Oh, you can ask," Black said cheerily. "As long as you don't expect an answer."

"Thought so," Harry muttered

"Up," Black ordered, standing himself. "We're going to see our present home."

"Cheery décor," Harry observed once they were inside.

"It's a sight better than my mum's house," Black told him. "And it'll look much better once I've got it all transfigured and shiny-looking."

It was a cave.

Black took Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage out of his pocket and tossed them toward Harry. "I'll just make sure we can't be snuck up on. Don't go anywhere." He reinforced the order by turning some of the dirt floor into a rocklike manacle around Harry's ankle, then left the cave.

Harry sat down, recognizing dimly that motion was much easier than it had been ten seconds ago, and began staring at the wall.

It looked like he'd be here awhile.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	2. Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from why­do­you­need­to­know, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 2: Perchance to Dream

Sunday, the eighth of August, dawned bright and early.

Much, _much_ too early, in Alexander Granger's opinion. For one, it wasn't a school day and he preferred his sleep, which could not be gotten with the newly risen sun shining directly in his eyes. For two, church services were in—he checked the clock—thirty-eight minutes, and he did _not_ want to go to church.

His and Mum's customary seats (which couldn't be changed unless somebody else in the congregation was willing to trade places, which was unlikely for several reasons) were directly in front of the Dursleys from two streets over. Which meant that if His Royal Fatness—Alex sniggered; it would be more accurate if he swapped the 'ne' in that last word for an ' A', but while Mum shared Alex's opinion of the brat, she would not approve of Alex's emendation to the title—if HRFA wasn't tormenting the skinny scarred spectacled kid (whose name Alex did not know and whose reason for putting up with the other Dursleys Alex could not imagine), then he was tormenting Alex.

It was better during the school year, when the Dursley boys were off at boarding school, but of course this was summer. Mum sympathized with Alex's plight, but since Mr. and Mrs. Dursley believed that their precious Diddykins could do no wrong, and it wasn't anything to call the cops over, there wasn't a great deal she could do about it.

Church was boring anyway.

The third reason Alex didn't care to wake up regarded the dream he'd been having. It was the good dream again; one of the good dreams, more accurately, because it was hardly ever the same twice. Once an amusement park, once a visualization of the library at Alexandria for which Alex had been named, complete with Egyptian garb and an uncanny ability to read ancient Greek as if it was his native tongue (an ability that had sadly not outlasted the dream), a forest where everyone was lupine rather than human (this one turned up quite regularly), a variety of other things, but most often scenes from normal everyday life.

Well, as normal as could be when everyone could do magic and Dad was a werewolf.

These everyday-life dreams in particular seemed so _very_ like real life, only better, especially where events in the dreams connected with reality. For instance, last night, the adults were discussing Serious Black (who'd give a child that name?), who'd been on the news a week or so ago. The phrases "cold-blooded murderer" and "worried for Harry" had come across loud and clear, but beyond that, Alex hadn't caught more than one word in five. It was difficult to listen when trying to keep one's cards from exploding in one's hand.

The dreams featured Alex, of course, and Mum because the two were only apart when Alex had school, cousin Neenie playing Alex's big sister, and somebody Alex had never seen outside of the dream world, cast in the role of Dad.

Not Alex's father, of course. Mum had no idea who Alex's father was, beyond a vague impression of white hair and a vivid impression of icy gray eyes, and Alex didn't care to remind her of the only time she'd met him. Well, no more than Alex's mere existence reminded her, anyway.

No, this man had kind eyes, sapphire blue like Alex's own. Straight hair unlike Alex's, a lighter shade than Alex's chocolate brown, except where it had gone gray. Three thin white lines across his face, barely visible against the pale skin he and Alex shared. Odd how greatly Alex resembled this dream-father—well, that was the point of dreams, wasn't it, to have what one couldn't have in reality?

But _oh_, how he wished it was real...

"Alex! Church in twenty minutes! Up!"

"Oh, all right," Alex grumbled, rolling out of bed. He thoroughly expected the next hour and a half or so to be exceptionally boring, exceptionally maddening, or some combination thereof.

Alex and his mother had only just gotten to the church, a bare two minutes before the service was supposed to start, when he saw the first hint that neither usual Sunday adjective would apply today.

Mr. Dursley and Dudley were in their accustomed places. (Thankfully without the ambulatory glob of fat who had accompanied them last week, elderly dog in tow.)

Mrs. Dursley and Dudley's bony black-haired brother were not.

Ten seconds before the pastor would have begun the service, Mrs. Dursley came flying up the aisle, blonde hair in disarray and Sunday dress both wrinkled and crooked. This was not at all unusual for certain others of the congregation, for example Julia Harrington, who'd zipped in two seconds before Mrs. Dursley, but on the normally impeccably dressed woman, it was not at all normal.

And her second boy still wasn't there.

"Petunia, whatever is the matter?" Mum asked politely, turning around in the pew to face the Dursleys.

"Serious Black," Mrs. Dursley gasped out, breath heaving. Had she run all the way here? Her house was within walking distance of the church, as was Alex's, but it was a longish walk... "Last night—our house—kidnapped Harry—"

Instant uproar.

_Harry. So that's his name._ Alex had met him once before, not counting in church where they didn't speak. The incident had involved Dudley Dursley and about four other junior thugs, age nine-ish, intending to pound six-year-old Alex to a pulp for no particular reason Alex could see. Harry'd distracted them with a bit of astonishingly accurate rock-throwing, then took off like an Olympic sprinter, junior thugs in pursuit, which gave Alex the chance to find a better place on the playground to hide during recess.

Alex had never managed to find out why exactly Harry had done that for someone he'd never seen before, mostly because the only times Alex ever saw him were at recess when he was either running from Dudley or taking bruises from him, and Alex had no desire to approach Dudley for any reason whatsoever. Nor had he ever clearly heard Harry's name.

_Wait—Harry. Isn't that who Dad was worried about Black hurting?_

Coincidence. Common name, Harry. Pure coincidence.

_But what if it's not?_

"I froze," Mrs. Dursley was saying to the attentive crowd. Apparently services were being delayed today. "I just froze—so did Vernon and Dudley and Marge—Harry was brilliant, he truly was. He started talking, to distract him, he went straight for a kitchen knife—Black got it from him first thing, of course, but it's the thought that counts. He was so brave."

"Is he—dead?" asked a timid girl from the grade above Alex's, whom he thought he recognized. She was one of Dudley's other would-be victims, rescued by Dudley's little brother without ever having worked up the nerve to say thank you, Alex thought.

"No, no, not when I saw him last—Harry tried to fight him, he gave us time to run for it—I called the Black hotline from next door and the police came right away. They didn't find a trace of Harry or Black, and all Harry's things have disappeared too. There wasn't any blood or—anything—except a bit on the kitchen floor and that's Black's. So we think he's alive—"

"But you left him behind." The voice wasn't immediately familiar to Alex. "He saved all your lives, and you left him behind."

It was only a moment later, when everyone turned to look at him, that he realized it was his own.

"What else could we do?" asked Mrs. Dursley shakily. "What else could we do?"

"For now," interrupted the bass voice of the pastor, "perhaps we could hold our service and pray for your boy?"

"Yes," Mrs. Dursley said tremblingly, "yes, that would be good, thank you..."

Alex couldn't pay attention to the service, even less than he usually could.

_What would Serious Black want with Harry—and how could someone I dreamed up know Black wanted him?_

xXxXx

Sunday, the eighth of August, dawned bright and early.

Not that Hermione Granger saw the sunrise. She'd translated the newest article about Sirius Black in the French version of the _Daily Prophet_, deduced some of what wasn't being said and made a few leaps of faith, and been awake till four-thirty worrying about her best friend.

So it wasn't terribly surprising that she was asleep at a time approaching noon.

Well, it wasn't surprising if you didn't know her.

Her parents slept in late, then woke to find her snoring softly on top of the desk in the hotel room, and by mutual silent agreement decided to let her sleep as long as she wanted. She obviously needed the sleep, and if she was asleep, then _they_ had some time all to themselves...

xXxXx

Sunday, the eighth of August, dawned bright and early.

Or so Harry assumed. He hadn't been wearing his watch to wash dishes (water did bad things to non-waterproofed watches) and hadn't grabbed it on the way out, so he had no way to measure time. The cave was brighter than it had been earlier, so it was _probably_ past sunrise, but he couldn't get close enough to the entrance to see if it was actually daylight.

If nothing else, his stomach was insisting it was breakfast time.

Harry glanced over at the other side of the cave, where what looked like a long gray pile of rags was snoring. After Black had finished fussing at the entrance to the cave, he'd released Harry from the improvised manacle, restored Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage to their normal sizes, and started to make the promised improvements to the cave. The dirt floor was now solid, smooth, even, and most undirtlike, in fact closely resembling kitchen tile. Two bed-sized patches of floor, on one of which Harry was presently sitting and on the other of which Black was presently snoring, bore a close resemblance in firmness, springiness, and texture to featherbeds with cotton covers. A lump of rock in the ceiling glowed softly, providing enough illumination for the inhabitants to have an idea of where the walls were, even in the much darker cave of a few hours earlier. The walls themselves resembled the floor, smooth, even, and perfectly vertical, though they curved along the contours of the cave. Or rather, most of the walls resembled the floor. The parts nearer the entrance Black hadn't gotten to before collapsing from exhaustion.

It had not been difficult at all for Harry to swipe back the wand, float Black to one of the 'beds' where he'd be less likely to wake up, and grab cloak and broomstick (everything else was easily enough replaceable), intending to make a run for it. The hardest part of the exercise was waiting long enough to be sure Black was really asleep.

Then he ran into the barrier across the doorway.

_No wonder he thought he could let me loose..._

Whatever it was, it was invisible and impassable, and Harry didn't know how to take it down. It probably wasn't the only barrier, either, given how long Black had spent magicking the entrance passageway. There wasn't another way into the cave, nothing that anything bigger than a field mouse could get through, anyway, and the only other way _out_ that Harry could think of involved bringing the roof down on both their heads. Which somehow didn't seem particularly bright.

And it was positively _galling_ because, _despite_ Black being so deeply asleep that bringing the roof down on him likely wouldn't wake him, and _despite_ Harry having all the weapons, the only means of concealment, and the only means of transportation in the cave, the _only_ thing Harry could do was sit and wait for Black to wake up!

What could Harry do that wouldn't be counterproductive? He literally had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide—well, he could do laps around the cave, or sit with the Invisibility Cloak on, or do laps wearing the cloak, but laps would exhaust him without getting him anywhere, and it didn't much matter if Black couldn't see him because Black knew within a fifteen-foot radius exactly where Harry was. Threats from a skinny thirteen-year-old, wand or no wand, wouldn't do much good, because Black had to know that Harry couldn't make good on them. Incapacitating or killing Black would leave Harry trapped in this cave, no food, no water, no one knowing where to find him. Harry didn't much fancy death by starvation.

No, better to save his efforts for when they might do some good.

So there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_, that Harry could do but sit and wait, or pace and wait, whichever suited his mood, to see what Black would do next, and hope that it involved either food and water or a chance to escape.

A sudden noise, like a dog's whimper, drew Harry's attention back to Black. He was thrashing around in his sleep, mumbling something. As Harry listened, the words became clear. "James, James, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—Lily, no, I didn't, I swear—James, _please_—"

Harry found himself moving to wake him and offer comfort, then remembered. _He's a kidnapper, a murderer, and a madman. Why should I help him?_

_Because he needs it,_ part of him answered.

_Not half as much as you need not to be here,_ another, colder part replied. _Nowhere near as much as the people he killed need not to be dead. He doesn't deserve any help._

Harry sank back onto his 'bed'.

He couldn't help thinking, though, that he should be helping Black with his nightmares anyway. Harry knew all about nightmares.

And it sounded like it was Harry's parents he was seeing...

Right about then, Black, still caught in the nightmare, cracked his head on the rock-hard floor and sat bolt upright with a yelp. It was a minute or so before his eyes uncrossed and focused properly, and even then they were flickering frantically around the cave, until they caught and held Harry's own. Black seemed to relax all at once, letting out a sigh and lying back down, crossing his arms behind his head to serve as a pillow. He turned his head to look at Harry. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Harry said warily.

"You look like a raccoon," Black observed. "What did you do, try to run through the wall?"

"How stupid do I look?" Harry snapped back, almost without thought.

"Right now? Very." Harry glared at him. "Well, you do. The raccoon look does not suit you. Come here, I'll fix that."

Harry glared for two beats more, then stood, crossed the cave, and plopped down ungracefully next to Black's head. Black half-sat up, leaning on an elbow, grabbed Harry's wand, and started tapping various points on Harry's face. The aches faded in patches around wherever the wand touched, though Harry didn't much care—he was used to bruises.

"When'd you get this?" Black asked, tracing along the long stinging place on Harry's cheek. "It's older than the bruises, but I know you didn't have it at your aunt's..."

Odd how kind Black's voice sounded. Almost as if he _cared_...

"Last night. Right after you popped us here. I fell and hit a rock."

"And it was so dark last night, I never saw it..." Did he sound _apologetic_? The cool tip of the wand ran the length of the stinging area. "You're probably going to have a scar along there, Aletha never showed me how to heal cuts without leaving one..."

"Aletha?" Harry asked, curiosity overcoming sense.

"A friend of your mother's. She and I were the Gryffindor Beaters for four years—speaking of which, what House _are_ you in, and why were you pretending not to know what Gryffindor meant?"

"It got your attention away from the Dursleys, didn't it? Not that it did any good. They were supposed to run for it right when you weren't looking at them anymore."

Black snorted, sitting up. "Them? Run? Wouldn't that involve getting their fat arses off their chairs?"

Despite himself, Harry laughed.

"Oh, so you _can_ smile. But that still doesn't tell me which _House_ you're in."

Harry glared. Then gave up glaring. "Yes. Gryffindor."

"I thought so, somehow."

Harry rolled his eyes—Black's tone of voice positively invited an eye-roll—then winced at the volume of his rumbling stomach.

"Did you even have any dinner?" Black inquired. Harry shook his head. "Any particular favorites?"

"You aren't serious."

"Yes I am, didn't you know?"

The sentence had a distinct aura of Missed Joke. Harry decided to let it pass. "You're planning to just stroll down to the nearest supermarket, right?"

"Nah, London first to raid my bank vault. And I won't be recognized, if that's what you're worrying about."

"Oh really."

"Oh really," Black imitated. "Watch." He stood, turned to face the wall, traced an oval with the tip of Harry's wand, and flicked some magic at it, turning everything inside the oval into a decent-quality mirror. Black frowned at the skeleton-like apparition in the glass, then closed his eyes, concentrating, and started waving the wand in various directions. The accumulated dirt on him faded away; a bit of color came into his ghost-white skin; all his hair below about chin level fell away and vanished before hitting the floor, while the rest was cleaned, disentangled, and turned a honey color; a small honey-colored mustache grew; the tattered gray robes were made to look like new, and blue.

Black opened his eyes, which were pale green instead of the gray they'd just been, and grinned at his reflection, then at Harry's. "Look like anybody you know?"

"No," Harry had to admit. The man in the mirror did _look_ like Black had, if only because magic couldn't apparently get rid of the skeletal look, but not so much that anyone who hadn't seen the transformation would recognize Black in this man. Which was, of course, the point. "Wait—how are you planning to get your money without being caught?"

"The goblins don't give a damn," Black said dismissively. "As long as they get their fee and the right person signs the withdrawal form, they couldn't care less. One of the human employees might spot my name on the transaction records and yell for Aurors, but that won't be till this evening if ever, and I'll be long gone by then. _Do_ you have any favorite foods, or do you not care what I get?"

"Not care," Harry said, blinking at the sudden change of topic.

"I'll just get what I like, then. See you later." And with that, he was gone, snatching up the Invisibility Cloak and breezing through the invisible wall across the entrance like it was air.

_Well, it is..._

Harry waited, listening carefully over the _thu-thump_ of his heartbeat—

A shriek, sounding exactly like—

Black poked his head back in, three long bleeding scratches across his face. "There is an infuriated snowy owl outside this cave. Yours?"

_It **was** Hedwig!_ "Probably."

Black turned to the mirror long enough to repair the scratches, then ducked back out. A moment later, Hedwig came flying through the entranceway, in a manner more suited to a ball than a bird. She caught herself before hitting the wall and fluttered down to perch on Harry's knee, feathers thoroughly ruffled. Black vanished out the entranceway—

_Crack._

—_there._ Harry darted to the entrance, not bothering to get to his feet first—Hedwig squawked at him and fluttered over to the trunk, which was unlikely to yank itself out from underneath her—

—and—

—_what did **he** do that I didn't?_ Harry thought, angry. The wall he'd crashed into earlier was still there, still invisible, still rock-solid and rock-hard. Still impassable.

_Goddamn it._

Harry's thoughts went on for a while in a similar vein, till he was interrupted by a yawn. _Well, I didn't get to sleep last night either, so I shouldn't be surprised...I think I'll just go over where it's comfy and close my eyes for a bit..._

His eyes slid closed.

Then open.

Something was different.

Nothing he could pinpoint immediately...very subtle, whatever it was...

_I wonder..._

Dreamlike, Harry stood and headed for the entranceway. It didn't hinder him a bit.

_HALLELUJAH!_

Outside, he found, as he was rather expecting, a rocky mountainside. Nowhere he recognized, also as he was rather expecting. There was a path leading down the mountain, which, given their arrival method, he was not expecting.

_Might as well see where it goes._

Halfway down the mountain, he heard voices.

One, a boy's, was vaguely familiar, though for no reason he could immediately pin down. The other, a shrill girl's, he knew at once, though the name was for some reason evading him—

_How did she get here?_

Just a little farther—they couldn't be far, their voices were pretty close, though the words weren't clear enough to make out—

And there they were. A boy, about ten, slender and pale, vivid blue eyes and curly brown hair. A girl, thirteen, taller and not so slender, masses of brown curls.

She looked up—she saw him. Brown eyes locked for a heartbeat with green.

"_Hermione!_"

The world blurred—and vanished.

He was back in the cave, with the blond-haired Black leaning over him

_What on earth just happened?_

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	3. Slings and Arrows

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 3: Slings and Arrows

Harry blinked up at Black, stifling a yawn.

"Have a nice nap?" Black inquired.

"Sort of," Harry temporized. _What's he mean, nap? I couldn't be napping; I wasn't asleep. I was just outside the cave, and then I was back in the cave. I wasn't asleep._

"Hungry?" Black asked, sitting against the wall. Harry sat up and noticed two full paper bags next to Black. "I got sandwich makings and some crisps and all sorts of chocolate. I figure it'll be difficult to ruin any of that in the cooking. And disposable plates and silverware to eat on."

"I can cook," protested Harry, moving to the bags and rummaging in them. He pulled out bread and peanut butter and the packages of paper plates and plastic knives with which to make his sandwich. Black was right; it would be very difficult to make any of this inedible.

"Good, that means the next shopping trip can be a bit more ambitious." Black tore open the bag of Hershey's Kisses, stuffing five into his mouth and leaving the foil crumpled in little balls on the floor.

Harry started tearing apart pieces of bread, crumpling them into half-inch balls, and tossing them across the cave to Hedwig. Black went through eight or ten more Hershey's before starting in on the peanut butter sandwiches. There was absolute silence for several minutes, except for the clicking of Hedwig's beak around the bread balls.

_This doesn't make sense,_ Harry thought. _Hermione—here—unless this **is** France, which is just as likely as its being England. Though it could as easily be anywhere else in the world—France and England are just nearest the Channel._

_And Hermione with—a kid brother? Right hair, anyway. Wrong eyes—no, Mr. Granger has blue eyes. So he **could** be her brother. Except she hasn't **got** one. Especially not one who looks like—on second thought, I don't know who he looks like. Other than her. Somebody I know, though. I'll figure it out eventually._

_And no parents in tow, either. So going mountain hiking wasn't their idea, and I **know** she's not the mountain-climbing type. She'll read about climbing Mount Everest to her heart's content, but the only thing that will persuade her to try anything like it herself is if the library of Alexandria is waiting for her at the top._

_Yeah, this makes absolutely no sense at all._

_But she saw me. I know she saw me. She must have heard me. So she knows where I am—so I ought to be rescued soon._

_I hope._

_But Black said I was sleeping—I wonder—_

"Can that owl of yours take a letter to someone it's never seen before?" Black said finally, giving Hedwig a contemplative look and jolting Harry's train of thought off its tracks.

"_Her_ name is Hedwig, and she's never had a problem before," Harry answered, looking at him suspiciously. "Why?"

A shadow crossed Black's face. "I shouldn't have been in Azkaban," he said flatly. "I didn't kill anyone. I know why they think I did—best cover-your-arse ploy I've ever seen—but I didn't." A corner of his mouth flicked up. "Of course, I can hardly stroll into the Ministry and tell them that."

"So you're going to write them instead?" Harry guessed.

"Nah. Nobody'd believe me. What I'm going to do—or I should say, what _you're_ going to do, since I'm left-handed and it's my left wrist you broke. Filling out the Gringotts withdrawal form was more than enough writing for one day. Anyway, you're going to write an old friend of mine, and you're going to put enough hints in the letter for him to figure out what really happened."

"Why not just tell him straight out?"

"He's not going to believe me either. Not if I just tell him. But if he figures it out on his own..."

_I don't see the difference, myself,_ Harry thought.

"See, one of the people I'm supposed to have killed is the one who framed me," Black continued bitterly. "Which will be blindingly obvious, or it ought to be, once Remus figures out Peter's still alive."

"How did you get convicted for the murder of someone who's not dead?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Bad choice of words, Harry. _Convicted_ implies _trial_. There was no trial."

Harry stared at him, speechless.

"Oh, I understand why they did it—this was right after James and Lily died, we were still in a state of war, and like I said, Peter did the best cover-your-arse ploy that's ever been. There were a good fifty people on that street who thought they saw me kill Peter and twelve other people with him. With all _that_ evidence, they didn't have any reason to ask my side of the story, and since everyone who'd cared about me was either dead or fled or thought I was a traitor and a murderer, and a nut job to boot, nobody cared enough to get me a trial. Then or ever."

_Nobody **cared**? Do these people even know the meaning of the word **justice**?_

But no sooner had Harry thought this when he realized, no, of course not. Hagrid hadn't killed Myrtle, either, nor Petrified anyone, and he'd still gotten expelled, and tossed into Azkaban for two months after the Petrifactions of Hermione and Penelope Clearwater, and this with no more evidence against him than that something very similar to what had been happening just before his expulsion was happening again. And they'd been wrong then, too.

_If he's telling the truth._

"Enough wallowing in misery," Black said suddenly, grabbing another handful of Hershey's and tossing three or four at Harry. "Finish your sandwich and grab some parchment, and we'll get started."

xXxXx

Gertrude Granger lay in the hammock her son had bought her, tied between the two trees in the back yard, a glass of club soda on the ground just within reach (lemonade was traditional, but she despised it) and her book open upside-down on her lap. Most unusually for her, she wasn't reading.

It was a cheesy romance novel, nothing she particularly cared about, but of course romance novels had a distinct tendency to include two or three romantic sex scenes. Which naturally got her thinking about her own sexual fantasies. Dreams, usually, part or all of the night, nearly every night, and it was sexual fantasy with the emphasis on the fantasy. Most women's sexual fantasies, after all, didn't include philosophical discussions with the significant other.

As well, most women's sexual fantasies involved men who either starred in movies or looked like they ought to. Her fantasy man was only a few years older than she was, with prematurely graying light brown hair and scar lines across his pale face, and looking nothing like a movie star. Beautiful eyes, though. Ocean blue eyes she could drown in. Literally, once, or as literal as a dream could be.

Most women's sexual fantasies didn't involve scenes of family life, either. Especially not family life where son and parents all were inveterate pranksters, or where the husband was a werewolf and a wizard. Well, that was what had first told her it was a dream. Her fantasy man was naturally as near a perfect husband and father as was humanly possible (except for the pranking bit, but life would be so boring otherwise), and if magic worked the way it did in the dreams (the question was emphatically not whether magic existed; she had only to look at her son to see it), life would be so much easier.

But then, she had always prided herself on not being most women.

It wasn't real, of course. That hurt sometimes, knowing that it wasn't real. But her fantasy man didn't exist; he couldn't. It wasn't possible.

But _oh_, how she wished it was...

She closed her eyes. Very often, she knew, slipping into sleep with her fantasy man on her mind would send her straight into dreams where he waited for her. Equally often, once she began dreaming, she need only wait a few minutes and he would join her. About half the time, Alex had beaten them both there, and if Alex was there, odds were that Neenie was too, or would soon join them.

By the same token, about half the time it was just the two of them...

"I wondered if you'd be coming today," said that oh-so-familiar voice.

She opened her eyes and smiled at the blue eyes an inch from her own. "Couldn't stay away." An arm around his neck brought his lips down to meet hers.

Some time later, she was cuddled up against him, the peculiar methods of dreams having been employed to supply them with a light blanket. "Bit of excitement this morning," she commented idly. It was a habit of theirs, to relay the events of their lives to each other. Of course she knew that she was really talking to her subconscious mind, and that it was making up everything he was saying, but dreams were like that, unfortunately. "Seems Petunia Dursley's nephew got kidnapped last night. By Sirius Black."

She heard a quick intake of breath. "Tell me," he whispered. "Everything you know."

"I don't know much. Petunia was too shaken to tell us much. I gather she was the only one capable of giving the police a coherent account of events, though. She certainly seems to have been kept at the station longer than the others. All I know is Black broke into their house, the nephew took him on, the Dursleys ran for it, and when the police came to investigate, Black, Harry, and all Harry's things were gone too."

"Not—Harry Potter, by any chance?" he asked softly. He had gone very still.

"Yes, as a matter of—oh my god." She bolted upright and turned to stare at him. "That's your friends' son."

He had told her all about James and Lily Potter, and all he knew of their son, but neither 'Harry' nor 'Potter' were what one could call uncommon names. It had never once, therefore, occurred to her to connect the quiet, shy boy from two streets over, the curious, intelligent boy she had met on his class trips to the library, the brave, noble hero of the school playground of her son's stories, with the child her dream lover had spoken of.

Especially as neither James nor Lily Potter was reputed to be precisely _shy_.

If Harry Potter of Little Whinging was the same child as Harry Potter of Godric's Hollow...

But how could he be?

But if he was...

...then her dreams...

...could this be real?

"Dreamweaver," he said softly, probably to himself, because she didn't have a clue what that meant. "You must be a dreamweaver." He sat up as well, his arms going around her by habit. "I don't think this is just your dream. Or just mine."

"But how can this be real?" she asked in a tiny voice. How many times had she woken up alone in her bed? How often had she wished on a star, as childish as that might be, that she could find someone like this man from her dreams? "How?"

"I've got an idea. It's not very common at all, but it's the only thing I can think of...But we both need proof that this is real before we start thinking about how this is possible. I think I am going to wake up and go to Foyles Books on Charing Cross Road in London. You live in Surrey, don't you? So you, Alex, and Neenie should have no problem getting there, right?"

"Alex and me, no. Neenie's in Paris."

He snorted. "We'll figure out something. See you there?"

"Absolutely."

They kissed once, then he faded out of sight as she threw herself into the blurring of the world that meant she was waking up.

Seconds after that, she was lying in the hammock again, staring up at the treetops. It hadn't been all that long; her club soda was still cool.

Five minutes after that, she was pulling out of the driveway, her emotional state somewhere between anticipation and elation, whistling the tune to "Once Upon a Dream" from Disney's _Sleeping Beauty_ (it seemed appropriate, somehow), with a severely confused ten-year-old in the back seat of her pickup.

_Please, please, please..._

xXxXx

"Think it's done?"

"I can't think of anything to add."

"Anything you want to tell me, you mean." Harry blew across the last line of the letter, drying the ink. "Why do you want _him_ to tell me about it, anyway? And why don't you want to tell him anything straight out?"

"I told you that already." Black—Sirius—leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head, then winced and changed his position so no weight rested on the broken wrist. "He's not going to believe a word I say unless I can prove it to him. I can't prove anything to anyone unless I can show them Peter alive and well. I can't go get Peter for several reasons, among them being that I really want to kill him, and I can't prove Peter's been alive for the past twelve years unless I can show them that he's alive _now_. And if I make him explain things to you, he'll have to think about them for himself. Which I don't think he ever really did."

"If you say so." Harry folded the parchment over twice, wrote the recipient's name on the outside, and tied it shut with a bit of string. "C'mere, Hedwig."

A few moments later, Sirius was carrying Hedwig out the entranceway to send her off. Harry took the moment to duck into the alcove that was serving as toilet facilities. (How Sirius had arranged it so that what usually went into a toilet instead disappeared as soon as it appeared, without stinking up the cave en route, Harry did not know, and wasn't sure he cared enough to ask.) Then he headed for his trunk. He did have essays to finish, after all.

"What're you getting there?" Sirius asked, reentering the cave.

"Homework," Harry explained, trying not to let it come out in a tone of just-how-dumb-are-you, but succeeding poorly. "Eeny meeny miny moe, catch a tiger by the toe—"

Sirius burst out laughing.

"What? I can't decide which essay to work on first, and that's as good a way to pick as any."

Sirius made an effort to stifle his laughter. "You're going into third year...still got Binns?"

Harry flopped down on top of his trunk, cushioning his face with his hands in the common I'm-going-to-sleep-now sign, and began snoring. A bit theatrical, perhaps, but it provoked another wave of laughter, which was the intended effect. Though it wouldn't have worked, Harry reflected, if Binns hadn't been around long enough to have taught Sirius as well.

Sirius finally managed to choke it down, though, and waved Harry over to the seat beside him on Harry's bed. "Let's get him out of the way first, shall we? Or did you finish the history work already?"

"Not yet."

"Let me guess. Witch hunts."

"Is he that predictable?"

"Dying didn't change his routine, Harry; what makes you think time will?"

"True." Harry thumped down next to Sirius and opened _A History of Magic_ to the appropriate chapter, putting the book on Sirius's lap so that he could use the Charms text as a writing surface. "What do you think of what I've got?"

It might have occurred to him, if he hadn't been so focused on the essay, that it was truly an odd scenario, either for a kidnapper, reputed murderer, and prison escapee to be offering homework help, or for the kidnappee to be so comfortable with the kidnapper as to accept it without question.

Sirius scanned the three paragraphs. "What exactly is your essay topic?"

"'Witch-Burning in the Fourteenth Century was Completely Pointless. Discuss.'"

"Yep, word for word. Want to see something I don't think anyone's noticed for twenty years?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

"He specifically said fourteenth century, correct?" Sirius didn't wait for an answer, instead taking the Charms book from under Harry's essay and flipping through it. "I believe one of your textbook examples is one Wendelin the Weird, of the fourteenth century?" The name Harry knew, and the date sounded right, not that he had a chance to answer. "Who supposedly got caught and burned some forty-odd times, surviving each time by use of a Flame-Freezing Charm. Well, take a look at this." Sirius turned the book towards Harry and tapped a finger on the right-hand page.

The section indicated was indeed about the Flame-Freezing Charm, _Flammafrigido_. Flick, swish—not that hard. Disperses heat of flames, rendering them harmless and mildly tickling to living things, though still capable of burning firewood and cooking food. Useful for cooking, for exactly that reason. But what...

"Look at the _date_."

_Oh, yeah. History of the charm. The section nobody ever bothers to read. Wait—did someone screw up these dates?_

"Yes, that says the charm was invented in 1786. Which in fact it was. My five-greats-grandfather Sirius left a diary in the family library, stating among other things how proud he was of inventing it. Apparently my five-greats-grandmother Lucinda was fond of cooking, but couldn't go more than a week without scorching herself on the kitchen fire."

Harry took another look at the history book. Wendelin the Weird's death date was quite some time prior to 1786.

"Oh, I'm sure it's possible that Wendy there got herself burned as often as she said she did. Lily thought she'd figured out how, too, though she said she had no idea where Wendy was getting herself burned, since witches in England apparently never got burned, only hanged or drowned. Anyway, she found an old story that says Godric Gryffindor could command fire and never got hurt by it, and since the same story says his kids had the same trick, probably anyone descended from Godric has it too. Since nobody knows anything about who's descended from the Founders, Wendy could easily have been a descendant of Godric's, and that's how she kept the fire from hurting her. But it certainly wasn't a Flame-Freezing Charm she was using to do it."

"That doesn't make sense, though," Harry said slowly. "Did Madam Bagshot make a mistake, or..."

"Or are they lying to you? I've no idea. Write your essay. I think you've got plenty to write about, now. Pity nobody but Binns will ever see it."

Harry snorted and set to work.

xXxXx

It was not often, Remus Lupin reflected, that one knew the place and time at which he would meet the girl of his dreams.

It had been an hour, or nearly, since waking up from the dream in which he had realized that Gertrude Granger was a dreamweaver. It couldn't take much longer than that for her to get to London from Little Whinging. She liked fantasy books, he knew, as, she knew, did he, so the fantasy section was a logical place to wait.

He was a patient man. That didn't mean he was fond of waiting.

"Excuse me," said a child's voice.

A _familiar_ child's voice.

Remus half-turned, taking a step back, eyes automatically sliding down to the approximate height of the speaker. He was a boy of about ten, as expected, brown-haired and pale, and slightly scruffy-looking. And very, _very_ familiar.

"Alexander?" Remus asked hoarsely.

"Yes, Da—er—yes, sir." The boy's blue eyes shone with joy, despite the flash of chagrin at his verbal stumble. Almost without thought, Remus stretched out a hand to ruffle Alex's hair, as he had done so often in dreams. Alex grinned.

Someone cleared their throat behind Alex. Remus looked up.

Chocolate brown eyes, a cascade of brown curls, even the navy denim shorts and "Stella Iter: audacter ire ubi nemo ante iit" T-shirt she'd been wearing earlier that afternoon. As if his dream had come to life.

_Perhaps because we've been living in a dream..._

"Danger," Remus said in greeting. "I don't suppose you recall who won at hearts two nights ago?"

She frowned. "Alex, of course. Somehow it always is." She paused. "Making sure I am who I look like? All right, smart guy, who lost?"

Remus winced. "Me. Repeatedly." Getting the Queen of Spades six times in a row had seriously dented his morale along with inflating his score. Losing the next three games they'd opted to play hadn't helped his mood any. "Have I told you lately that you're beautiful?"

"In your dreams."

Several heads turned towards them, obviously wondering what the trio found so hilarious.

Ten minutes later, the three were settling down to shepherd's pie at the Leaky Cauldron. Explanations, of a great many things including why Danger hadn't seen the pub till her son pointed it out, were easier to deliver when the people who weren't currently talking had something with which to occupy their mouths, preventing them from interrupting and by extension keeping the discussion on track.

That was the theory, anyway. In practice, the initial explanation of magic got quickly side-tracked into mind-magic, particularly dreamweaving. That segued into a discussion of lycanthropy, which took a left at Albuquerque because Remus didn't want to get into anything regarding Animagi and headed off in the direction of rights accorded to various classes of magical beasts, beings, and spirits, which via a query about Nearly Headless Nick became a game of Twenty Questions about Hogwarts, which...

In short, the conversation was very long.

It was nearing eight-thirty when someone held the door to London open for a minute, letting out someone else with a few packages too many to carry one-handed, and letting in a snowy owl with a folded piece of parchment in her beak. The owl soared overhead straight to the table where Remus, Alex, and Danger sat, dropped the parchment into the center of the table, and landed neatly on the back of the empty chair.

Remus picked up the parchment and looked at it, and kept looking for a long moment.

"Something wrong, love?" Danger asked.

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know."

"Descriptive," Alex commented.

Remus sniggered, but sobered almost immediately. "If I didn't know better," he said slowly, "I'd think this was James Potter's handwriting."

"But since he's dead...his son?" Danger wondered quietly.

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" Remus said rhetorically. He undid the string and unfolded the letter, scanning its length.

When he reached the signature, he stared at the letter for a moment, then began again at the top. It could not possibly be what he thought it was. No, it was signed Harry Potter, in a handwriting incredibly like James's, and the first paragraph named James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, and Aletha Freeman in such a way that only people who'd been at the wedding (and read _Much Ado About Nothing_) would understand...

_Just how stupid **am** I?_ Remus thought suddenly. Danger had _told_ him Sirius had taken Harry. She'd told him straight out. And he, fool that he was, had missed that little detail entirely, focusing instead on the fact that if they had both seen the same person in the flesh, then neither could be a creation of the other's dreaming mind.

_Remus John Lupin, you are an idiot._

"We've got to go," Remus said abruptly, rummaging in a coat pocket for some gold to pay for the half-eaten shepherd's pies. "This has to get to the Ministry."

"Why?" Alex asked.

Remus explained about the Boy Who Lived and the man who had betrayed his family, as tersely as he could, on the way out the door. The Ministry visitors' entrance wasn't close, but it wasn't far either, and the explanation took up most of the walk.

Then they were there, at the decrepit phone booth. Remus waved Danger and Alex inside, squashed himself in after them, and grabbed the receiver. "Six, two, four, four, two," he muttered, poking each button as he named it. Danger and Alex snickered. Remus ignored them. Owning a Muggle telephone himself, he had long since figured out that M-A-G-I-C was entered as 6-2-4-4-2.

"Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic," said the pleasant voice of the greeter spell. "The Ministry is presently closed. Please return at nine a.m. on Monday, or make an appointment. Thank you and have a pleasant evening."

Alex gawked. Danger muttered something unpleasant-sounding. Remus cast a Silencing charm on himself and began systematically swearing the air blue.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	4. Fortune's Star

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 4: Fortune's Star

Hermione Granger looked out the window of the airplane, at the morning sky, and wondered if she had lost her mind.

_Here I am, flying back to England, all alone, missing out on two weeks in France, because Aunt Danger told me in a dream that Sirius Black kidnapped Harry Potter._

_This despite the facts that, one, Aunt Danger is a Muggle and doesn't even know who Harry and Black **are**; two, dreams are random firings of nerve cells that happen to mimic signals from the senses and which our brains therefore try to make some sense of, and not a means of communication; and three, Black hasn't been seen since the twenty-ninth, before he escaped Azkaban, and if he has any sense won't be anywhere near anyplace with so high a population density as Surrey._

_So, in summary, I'm off on a wild goose chase, when I can't even be sure of the existence of the goose._

_But I saw Harry in my dream. Just for a second, long enough for him to recognize me, then he disappeared. And the way he said my name—part 'What are you doing here, Hermione?' and part 'Hermione, HELP ME!' I can understand the first part, I've never seen those mountains before in my life, but the second part..._

_If Harry's asking for help, then he's fallen into serious hot water—ugh, pun not intended—well, maybe partly—and he's about to get boiled alive. He's too proud—not to mention too stubborn—to ask for help for anything less._

_If I'm going to help him, I have to at least be in the same country._

_Thanks be that Mum, Dad, and Aunt Danger are at least willing to play along with me._

David and Rose Granger hadn't gone to bed yet when Hermione had woken up, positive that her dream was true and something was horribly wrong, something that concerned her best friend. They'd accepted the story, invented on the spur of the moment, that magical people sometimes had premonitory dreams (though Dad had given her the strangest look when she said it), and put up only a token protest before allowing her to return to England early, provided she had someone to go to. Plan B had been renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron, but evidently Aunt Danger hadn't gone to bed yet either, nor had she objected to Hermione's Plan A, which was spending the remainder of the summer in Aunt Danger's guest bedroom.

Fortunately, the flight from Paris arriving at eight-thirty in London had empty seats.

_Harry, please be all right..._

xXxXx

Alex was making a heroic effort not to bounce up and down on Dad's—no, Mr. Lupin's—shoulders. The plane was in, passengers were debarking, she had to be...there! Bushy brown hair at twelve o'clock! "NEENIE!"

She jerked, then looked around frantically, eyes quickly lighting on her cousin—not that he was precisely hard to spot, as his waist was near the same level as everyone else's head. "ALEX!" she yelled in reply, ignoring the people who looked at her with the same disapproval they'd shown Alex a moment before, and rushed towards him, dodging through the crowd that airports always seemed to have.

When she was five feet from them, she skidded to a stop, staring at Alex's ride. "Uncle Moony?" she asked in a tiny voice, eyes about as wide as they could be while remaining separate entities.

"Hermione," Mr. Lupin said with a nod. "It's wonderful to see you in person."

"So then—the dreams—" Neenie glanced towards her aunt. "It's real? I'm not mad?"

"No more so than any of us, at any rate," Mum replied.

"Then—Harry—did Black really take Harry?" Neenie asked in a whisper.

"So Petunia Dursley says."

"Hmph. _Her._" Hermione's tone was contemptuous. "If half—no, if a _third_ of what Harry says about her is true, I'd be sorry even to _meet_ her."

_Sorry for you, or for her?_ Alex wondered.

Hermione stalked off in the direction of the baggage claim. Mr. Lupin swung Alex down, and they and Mum followed her. "I bet she made the whole thing up. She's certainly lied to Harry often enough."

"Her story is unlikely to be false," Mr. Lupin said quietly. "Last night I got an owl from someone signing himself Harry Potter, whose handwriting resembles that of James Potter, and whose 'present host' knows details that only three people would know, two of whom are Sirius Black and myself."

Hermione frowned. "What about the third?"

"God only knows—I haven't seen her since before James and Lily died."

"You said an owl? What kind?"

"Snowy."

"Hedwig," Hermione said with a nod. "I'm not sure there's another snowy in the British Isles. And the letter—could I see it? I can at least tell you if it's Harry's writing or not—there's mine, look, that blue suitcase, and the purple duffel bag next to it."

The discussion was put on hold for a few minutes in favor of getting out of the airport and securing Hermione's luggage in the bed of the pickup truck. Once they were out of the traffic around the airport, Mr. Lupin passed the letter back to Hermione without a word.

_Mr. Lupin:_

_I'm told we've met before, though I don't remember you. My present host says he would like to remind you of the theatrical production you instigated in June of 1978, at which he played Benedick and my parents Claudio and Hero. He would also like to convey his apologies to you and to Beatrice, if she's still alive, for not telling you two something you both ought to have been told, and to you in particular, for believing something of you that he ought to have known better than to believe._

_I hope that makes more sense to you than it does to me._

_He says he doesn't think you ever really thought about what happened around the time my parents died. He says if you think about certain activities the four of you did, particularly the ones that involved getting you past a certain murderous tree, and compare that to what you see in the recent picture in the Prophet of the lottery winners, you should be able to figure out the reason behind the recent events involving him. He says the person you're supposed to be thinking of was the best of the four of you at getting out of tight corners, and making sure people didn't see what they thought they saw. He also says he'd tell you straight out, but you wouldn't believe him, and if you figure it out on your own, you'll have proof right in front of you. (He'd be saying all this himself, but I broke his wrist.)_

_I have no idea what he's talking about. All I see in the Prophet picture is nine Weasleys, Ron's rat, and a pyramid. And lots and lots of sand. I'm not sure I want to know why you wanted multiple close encounters with the Whomping Willow, though. Once was more than enough for me._

_He says I shouldn't expect to see the sky again until he sees sufficient proof that you've figured out what you didn't see before, you have relayed that information to the DMLE, and they are acting on it. I don't know what he means by sufficient proof, but he thinks you'll figure it out without any help._

_I don't think I'm actually in any danger here. I'm not hurt, or no more hurt than I'd usually be after running into a wall. It isn't like he hasn't had the chance to kill me, if he wanted to. He's got my wand, he's got the kitchen knife I tried to skewer him with, and he hasn't pointed either of them at me, so I think he wants to keep me alive and unhurt. Even so, the sooner you can figure out how to get me out of here, the better. (I won't be much help. Trying to get through whatever spell he put up to keep me in is very much like running into a wall, and I couldn't tell you where to find me even if I thought I knew.) Just please don't say I have to go back to my aunt and uncle's._

_Please write back and tell us what you know about October and November 1981. He wants to hear your side of things, and I just want to know what in God's name is going on._

_I wish you luck figuring out what he wants you to figure out. Lord knows you and I both need it._

_Hedwig will wait for your response._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

"Harry definitely wrote this," Hermione said flatly after perusing the letter. "It's his handwriting, it's his style, and I see two separate instances of his so-called sense of humor." She folded the letter and handed it back. "Reading between the lines, he's tried escaping and he's tried fighting back, so he's probably all right. But then, knowing Harry, he'd have to be really badly off _not_ to be fighting somehow." She shrugged, though no one was looking. "He can't be too desperate if he's joking about running himself into the wall. Though I'd love to know when he started reading Shakespeare."

"I suspect that that paragraph was Harry taking Sirius's dictation," Mr. Lupin commented. "I talked Sirius into reading _Much Ado About Nothing_ a few months after James and Lily's wedding. If only so he'd see where we'd gotten the idea to trick him and his Beatrice to admitting they were in love."

"That must have been a sight to see."

"Oh, it was. Danger, park here, it's just the next block..."

xXxXx

_Monday. My very favorite day of the week._

_It's been a week and a half, and no sign of him. I hope—_

Aletha Freeman violently squashed that thought, strangled it, and stomped it into the ground. Or she would have if it had been something tangible. She _didn't_ hope he was all right. She was determined not to, at any rate. Her mind was made up.

Her heart was convinced otherwise.

"Mama?"

Aletha glanced down at Meghan, a miniature copy of herself, except that she had brown-sugar skin instead of Aletha's chocolate color, and where Aletha's eyes were deep brown, Meghan's were slate gray.

_Her father's eyes..._

Aletha squashed that thought, too.

"Is something wrong, Mama?"

Aletha shook herself out of her introspection. "No. Nothing."

Meghan folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, in an exact mirror of the Now-why-don't-you-tell-me-the-truth pose Aletha so frequently found herself using on Meghan.

Aletha sighed. There could be no doubt the look was effective. "Nothing more wrong than there's been since your father—"

Those two words answered it all. _Your father._ Broken out of Azkaban and on the run, God only knew where, and God save them if he ever came for them—or for Harry...

Unwillingly, Aletha's thoughts carried her back to the last time she'd seen Sirius Black—the man she had known, or thought she had, not the traitor, not the murderer. Odd how she distinguished the two. He had been the traitor and murderer since Halloween 1981; it was the traitor and murderer who showed up in her nightmares; yet it had been in her dreams that she'd last seen what her heart told her was the true Sirius...

_Oh, you are all I ever want / But this I am denied..._

"Mama!"

"Sorry, Pearl." Aletha dropped a pinch of Floo powder into Meghan's palm. It was exceedingly fortunate, she reflected, especially now, that Madam Bones didn't mind having an often-rambunctious eleven-year-old hanging around her office playing assistant secretary. It was bad enough leaving Meghan home alone after school, with everything dangerous safely locked away and the house warded to the hilt, but _all_ day...with Sirius Black on the loose...

"The Ministry of Magic!"

xXxXx

Meghan spun crazily through the green flames. It was fascinating, watching all the fireplaces whirl by, trying to see into the rooms beyond them.

Good thing she didn't get sick easily.

She tumbled out, cracking her head against something and ending up staring at the familiar sight of the blue-and-gold Ministry Atrium ceiling. This little scene repeated itself every day.

Except that this time whatever she had landed against was softish rather than hard.

Meghan looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said to the girl rubbing her shin.

"It's all right," the girl said, brushing a brown curl back behind her ear. "Are your parents here? Did you get lost?"

"My mother's coming," Meghan said, accepting a hand up from a woman who must be the girl's mother, and seeing a man and boy who must be the girl's father and brother. A white owl was circling idly above the man's head. "She should be right behind me..." She frowned at the woman. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm sorry," the woman said, and she did sound it. "It's just that you look exactly like Aletha did—my best friend when I was little, I haven't seen her since I was your age..."

"My mother's name is Aletha," Meghan volunteered. "I'm Meghan Freeman."

The man jerked. "Aletha Freeman's daughter?"

The woman turned to look at him. "_You_ know Aletha Freeman?"

At that precise moment, Meghan's mother emerged from the fireplace three down from the one Meghan had just exited. More gracefully than Meghan had, though that wasn't hard.

The woman's head whipped around so quickly that it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash. "_Letha?_"

"Aletha!" the man shouted. Heads turned, but he didn't seem to care, rushing toward Meghan's mother as if he'd just found a long-lost friend.

"Remus?" Mama was crying, hugging him. Apparently they were long-lost friends, after all. "I haven't seen you in _ages_!"

"It's wonderful to see you—I'm sorry, we've no time to chat, I'm sure you have your job to get to—we need to see Madam Bones, as soon as can be managed—"

Mama half-smiled. "I'm her secretary. Meghan's helping me—I can hardly leave her home alone..."

"Then would you do me a favor?" the man—Remus—asked. "I got this last night—would you _please_ make sure she sees it first thing?" He handed her a folded piece of parchment.

Mama unfolded the parchment and scanned it, eyes getting wider and expression grimmer the farther down she read. When she looked up, if she had had significantly lighter skin, she would have been pale as death. "You're sure this is genuine?"

"I'm a friend of his," the girl said. "I usually read over his homework before he hands it in. He wrote that. I'd bet my life on it."

Mama nodded, folding the parchment back up. "I believe you. You'd better come on, both of you."

"What about me?" protested the boy.

"Yes, Letha, forgetting us so soon?" put in the woman.

Mama looked over at her. Her eyes bugged out. "_Danger?_ Danger Granger, is it really you?"

"No, it's the Loch Ness Monster in disguise," the woman said, looking confused when Mama and Remus glanced at each other and visibly refrained from laughing. "Of _course_ it's me, Letha! And this is my son, Alex, and my niece, Hermione, and your Meghan?"

"Yes, my Pearl—"

Meghan rolled her eyes, took the parchment from her mother's hand, and marched off towards the lifts.

"Meghan! Just where do you think you are going?"

"To give this to Madam Bones," Meghan answered without slowing down, in a tone of well-isn't-that-obvious.

Judging by the sounds behind her, several hands had just met their owners' respective foreheads, and several pairs of feet were hurrying to catch up.

"Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office...Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center...Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats..."

"Do you have to listen to that _every_ time you use the lifts?" wondered the boy. Alex, Meghan remembered.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mama answered.

"And it gets _booor_-ing," Meghan added.

"Meghan!"

"Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau...Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee...Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

_Well, finally!_

Meghan was out of the lift the moment the grilles opened, Alex and Hermione right behind her. They were polite enough to stay a half-step behind her, even though they both had longer legs than she did and could have outdistanced her easily. Or maybe they were just being sensible, Meghan thought. Probably she and Mama were the only ones who knew where they were going.

The adults caught up to the kids right outside Madam Bones's office. "You take this, Remus," Mama said, taking the parchment from Meghan and passing it on. "You're the one who'll have to explain it." She opened the door.

"...told you, Amelia," a gravelly voice was saying as the sextet filed in. "We should've gone in first and asked forgiveness later. We can't get anything more precise than east and north, and farther east than north. He could be anywhere from Bristol to Paris. Can't even tell if he still had the boy with him. That's thirty-six hours we wasted demiguise-hunting."

"Excuse me, Madam Bones?" Remus asked, stepping into the inner office. "I believe you'll want to see this—it's a letter from Harry Potter and Sirius Black..."

_Harry Potter? **And** my father?_

_This can't be good..._

"You're certain of that, Mr..." Madam Bones's familiar booming voice trailed off.

"Lupin, Remus Lupin, and yes. The second sentence—look—refers to something I did at the Potters' wedding. There were only seven people who knew that it was my idea. James and Lily Potter, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Aletha Freeman, Sirius Black, and myself."

Madam Bones nodded at each of the first four names—everyone knew about the Potters, and Meghan knew very well what had happened to the Longbottoms—but gave Mama a sharp look when Remus said her name. By now everyone was either in the inner office or had a head stuck through the door, excepting the owl, who was perched on the back of the chair behind Mama's desk. With Madam Bones, Aurors Shacklebolt and Moody, and Auror-trainee Tonks also in the inner office, it was a bit of a tight fit.

"'Beatrice' is me," Mama said. "The names are from the Shakespeare play Remus was reading at the time. He and I were friends of the Potters', and of Black's and Peter's."

Madam Bones glanced at Meghan, who gulped. She didn't _think_ Mama had told anyone who her father was, but...

"I'm sure Harry wrote that," Hermione burst out. "I'm _sure_. I'm a friend of his from school. I know his style."

"Your name, miss?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Hermione Granger."

Madam Bones adjusted her monocle, the better to read the parchment, _hmm_ing to herself as she did so. Reaching the end, she looked up. "Well, he's obviously alive, or he was when he wrote this, and he's obviously with Black. Black has a knife, a wand, and a broken wrist, and wherever they are, he's spelled it to keep Potter in. And evidently no one ever saw fit to tell Potter about him. I can't make heads or tails of the rest of it."

"Nor can I," commented Tonks, who'd been reading over Madam Bones's shoulder.

"Reading between the lines," Remus said, "the only person Black expects to be capable of figuring it out, whatever it is, is myself."

"What _did_ happen around when Harry's parents died?" Alex asked, curious.

"Tell us, please," Hermione added. "I think—" Her voice faltered a bit, as every eye in the room was now on her. "—Well, I know that explaining something to someone else helps you understand it better. Black obviously thinks there's something you don't understand properly, so maybe if you explained it to me—and Harry—you'll figure out whatever it is you're missing?"

"I'll second that, Remus," Danger said to him. "I'm dying of curiosity."

Everyone was looking at Remus now.

"Oh, aye, go on, Lupin," Mad-Eye Moody said with a short laugh. "Explain it to us."

"Why me?" Remus asked the ceiling.

"Hang on a moment," Hermione said, darting out the door to swipe parchment, inkpot, and quill from the secretary's desk, and two of the chairs from the wall (the secretarial office doubled as the waiting room). "If you don't mind," she added.

"Of course not," said three or four voices.

Hermione quickly arranged everything to her satisfaction, inkpot resting on the chair she wasn't sitting on, quill tip poised above the parchment, ready to take notes. She looked over at Remus.

"Any time you're ready, Mr. Lupin," Madam Bones said.

Remus flicked another glance heavenward, and as it was obvious that rescue wasn't coming, sighed and began his story.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	5. Something Rotten in Denmark

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 5: Something Rotten in Denmark

_Sirius Black:_

_The only thing I want to say to you is best expressed by my fist to your gut._

_Remus_

_**I can think of a few more things to say than Remus did, but I suspect Harry will be reading this, and thirteen-year-olds don't need to know that sort of language.**_

_**Aletha**_

_Harry:_

_My name, as you may have gathered, is Remus Lupin. Feel free to call me Remus, at least until the school year starts, at which point I become Professor Lupin, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I was a friend of your father's in school, as was Peter Pettigrew and, we all thought, Sirius Black._

_**I'm Aletha Freeman. Call me Letha. I was Lily's best friend and maid of honor when she married your father, and I would have been your godmother if I'd been in the country when you were born. (I'm 'Beatrice', if you're curious. Which, if you're anything like Lily, you are.) I'm sure you've seen a picture of me in that photo album Hagrid made you. I'm the black lady. Remus is the taller man with brown hair, the one who looks like a rack of bones.**_

_I resemble that remark. Anyway, Harry, you've probably figured out that James and Lily managed to get Lord Volde**--Don't say the name!** I'm not saying it, I'm writing it. **Don't write it, either.** VOLDEMORT. And lo and behold, the sky did not fall. Anyway, James and Lily managed to thoroughly tick off Voldemort, so he decided he wanted them dead. A spy in the Death Eaters warned us in time to get the three of you into hiding. About October 23, 1981, the three of you were put under the Fidelius Charm. It's a complex piece of magic that conceals a secret, such as the location of a particular family, in such a way that only one person, the Secret-Keeper, can reveal it to anyone else. In theory, if it was done properly, anyone not privy to the secret could have their noses pressed to the kitchen window while your mother was cooking dinner and think they were looking into an empty house._

**_We'd suspected for some time that there was a spy among our friends and comrades. In light of that, Professor Dumbledore volunteered to be your family's Secret-Keeper himself. James insisted it be Sirius, who was, after all, the one person he trusted most, next to Lily. I never did figure out why James didn't insist on having Lily be the Secret-Keeper. Or else do it himself._**

_I think the people who are involved in the spell on the Secret end can't be involved on the Keeper end. But then I'm not an expert. I have a suspicion as to why James preferred Sirius to Dumbledore, but it hardly matters now. In any case, as you may have guessed by now, the traitor among us turned out to be one Sirius Orion Black. And guess what prize he delivered to prove his loyalty to Voldemort?_

_**So You-Know--**Letha, will it kill you to write the name? **Frankly, yes.** Anything you say. At least come up with something that isn't hyphenated. **Will 'Lord Snakeface' do?** It's an improvement, I suppose._

_**So Snakeface went skipping merrily off to your parents' house in Godric's Hollow, intending to kill all three of you. We can't say for sure, of course, but from the looks of things, James took him on single-handedly, trying to give Lily time to run for it with you. Unfortunately for Lily, Snakeface expected exactly that, and magicked the doors and windows to keep everyone in.**_

_The magical traces don't match any spell anyone will admit to knowing, so Lily wouldn't have known how to deconstruct it, and she was always better at putting spells up than at taking them down anyhow. She'd done a truly masterful anti-Apparation ward on the house and had the Floo disconnected, and nobody had the foresight to turn anything into an emergency Portkey, so she had nowhere to run._

_**I suspect Snakeface intended to kill you before Lily, for the fun of watching her suffer, but she threw herself in front of you or something, which is exactly what I'd expect of her. She must have done something else as well, but God only knows what, now. She was quite bright enough to realize that once she was dead, there was precisely nothing she could do to keep you alive, and that wasn't the first time a mother had blocked the Killing Curse to save her kids. (In the incident I'm thinking of, the son was killed immediately after the mother. The Aurors arrived before the Death Eaters could kill the daughter, though she was in nasty shape when she got to St. Mungo's.)**_

_In any case, after Voldemort killed Lily, he tried to kill you. Operative word 'tried', obviously. No one knows what happened, but it involved Voldemort vanishing and the house going boom, and of course you getting that scar._

_**This happened at midnight, or thereabouts. Everyone knew by morning.**_

_I damn near died of shock when I heard. Same for Aletha. The only one of us with any courage was Peter. He was marvelous. He tracked Sirius down, though I've no idea how, and yelled for half the city to hear that Sirius had betrayed Lily and James. Sirius didn't even bat an eye, I hear, he just pulled his wand and blew Peter to bits. We never found anything but a finger and a pile of bloody robes._

_**And as if it wasn't bad enough that he'd killed Peter and as good as killed Lily and James, the same spell that killed Peter took out a dozen people with the misfortune to be standing within twenty feet. I think the Muggles were told it was a gas explosion.**_

_Poor brave Peter. I'd never have believed it of him, honestly. He was bright enough to know that trying to avenge James and Lily would probably just give him a grave next to theirs, not that there was anything left to bury, and he was always the one to say "I refuse to do this, on the grounds of I'd like to live to see tomorrow" when James and Sirius were trying to talk him into helping them with something that had the potential to backfire horribly. I suppose he was half-crazy from shock and grief, otherwise he'd not have done it, or else he'd have made sure to invite Aletha and me along._

_**I wouldn't have believed it of Peter, either, but then again, I'd never have believed Sirius capable of betraying his best friends.**_

_Well, there you have it, Harry. Sirius Black killed thirteen people on November 1, 1981, and has your parents' blood on his hands, as well as that of several of our comrades who died because of information he gave to the Death Eaters. In perfect honesty, I cannot imagine why he is keeping you alive._

_**We'll get you away from him the first chance we get, don't worry about that. Half the Aurors and a number of the Azkaban guards are doing nothing but looking for you. Would you do us a favor and put a few oblique hints about your location in your reply? Your friend the bookworm thinks she can puzzle out where you are if you give her a hint or two she'll understand, and she's browbeating the MLE into getting your freckly friend here to help.**_

_Optimist. Do you really think Sirius will let Harry send a letter without making sure there's no dangerous information in it? And his present location would probably qualify as dangerous information._

_**Pessimist. Can't hurt to try. Since whatever Sirius wants isn't going to materialize if Harry dies, the worst that's liable to happen is Harry wastes some ink and parchment.**_

_I'd like to take a moment to remind Aletha of some of the nastier nonlethal curses she ran across in Healer training. I shan't mention them in writing, because I don't want to give Harry nightmares, or Sirius ideas._

_**Though if I ever see him again, he's going to wind up on the wrong end of a few.**_

_Bloodthirsty woman. Anyway, Harry, we're trying to figure out what else Sirius was trying to get across in your letter, but we'd be getting farther trying to climb up an enchanted staircase pointed down, I'm sure._

_**Do try to stay alive until we have you out of there, all right?**_

_Your bookworm friend sends her love, and we all (including the congregation at your aunt's church) send our prayers. As Aletha said, try to stay alive. I'm not sure your friends will ever forgive you if you don't._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus Lupin_

_**With love,**_

_**Aletha Freeman**_

"I don't think your friends like you very much," Harry observed, looking up from the letter.

"I've earned their everlasting enmity twice over, I'm sure," Sirius said without looking away from what he was doing with the wall. "Damn Wormtail anyway."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I take it Remus told you what happened the week James and Lily died?"

"Him and Aletha," Harry corrected. "Alternating paragraphs. They haven't figured out whatever you were trying to tell them."

Sirius snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Why are you aski—Christ, that's bright!"

"We have windows," Sirius announced unnecessarily.

"Wonderful. Now can we get window shades?"

The red haze visible through Harry's eyelids promptly dimmed. Harry cracked one eye. When no blaze of light greeted him, he dared to open them both. The mere presence of the large window in the room's west wall did wonders for the ambience, he had to admit. Sunshine-yellow walls or no sunshine-yellow walls, without actual sunshine present, the place was rather dim and gloomy.

_No kidding, Sherlock. It's a cave._

"Aren't you worried about people seeing in?" Harry wondered aloud, then mentally kicked himself.

"Nah, not really. There's still two feet of rock between us and the sunlight. I just transfigured this chunk here—" Sirius waved at the window "—and a similar area outside into mirrors, then linked that one to this one so that any light that hits it will be reflected out of this one instead of that one, but not vice versa. James and I did something similar with a pair of hand mirrors, once, but two-way, with voice alongside the image." He turned to grin at Harry. "We were constantly getting detentions, you see, and the teachers all had more sense than to put us in the same room while we served them. We had to keep plotting somehow."

"Uh-huh." Harry reached for quill, ink, and parchment to start scribbling down his first thoughts about a reply to the letter. Probably Sirius wouldn't let him send any of it (the original letter had gone through five drafts before Sirius was satisfied), but it couldn't hurt.

_Remus, Letha,_

_Professor Lupin, is it? So what's the proper way to deal with a cageful of pixies destroying the classroom?_

_If the answer's anything other than 'dive under the desk', congratulations, you're a better Defense teacher than Lockhart was. Though it would take real effort to be worse. (Hermione, don't say a word.)_

_Stupid question for both of you. Why haven't I heard either of your names since before my parents died? I'd have loved an occasional letter or visit from friends of Mum and Dad's._

_Letha, please stop flinching when somebody says Voldemort. It's just a name he made up so he'd sound scary. His real name's Tom Riddle. If you can't get your tongue around Voldemort, then use that._

_Just to be sure I have this straight: You're saying that one of my father's friends betrayed my parents to Voldemort, and another died trying to avenge them, and you wouldn't have believed it of either of them. Either you didn't know your friends anywhere near as well as you thought you did, or something's rotten in Denmark._

_My personal bet's on something being rotten in Denmark. You said the spell that killed all those people was an explosion, and all that was left of Peter was a finger and his bloody robes? That makes no sense. Explosions just don't work like that. Either all of Peter would be in finger-sized pieces, or all of Peter would be in teeny red bits scattered to the four winds, and in either case the robes would be shreds, and nobody would be able to tell they'd started as robes if nobody knew they'd been robes to start with._

_And if all you found of Peter was the finger and the blood on the robes, there's an awful lot of Peter missing. There ought to at least be a lot of teeny red bits scattered about._

_Between that and what little Sirius has told me, all I can say is I smell a rat._

Harry took a moment to ask Sirius a question, then tossed him Remus and Letha's letter for him to read and formulate an answer, which turned out to be exactly the one Harry expected. He went back to writing.

_Sirius says I don't need to bother with the oblique hints. We Apparated from Surrey to Cornwall to Calais to Germany to Normandy to here, boing boing boing boing boing, and "have fun tracking us down." Direct quote. He also says, and I quote, "I think I'll keep clear of Aletha for the next decade or two. It'll take at least that long for her to calm down enough not to start tearing holes in me on sight." (Though if you're right about what happened, I think it's more likely to take a century or three than a decade.)_

_Tell Ron and Hermione not to worry about me, I'm all right. Actually, on second thought, save your breath. They'll worry no matter what I say._

_I still don't know what Sirius was getting at in the first letter, but I think I might have an idea. I also think he's absolutely right that you won't believe it if you don't figure it out for yourself. Please figure it out soon._

_Thanks,_

_Harry_

"What do you think of this?" Harry asked, waving his letter in Sirius's general direction.

"I think you should wait till I'm done reading this," Sirius said without looking up from the other letter.

Harry tossed the parchment at him and waited.

Sirius picked up Harry's letter the moment he'd put Remus and Letha's down. He burst out laughing at one point, for no reason he would explain. "This looks good," he said when he'd finished reading. "Copy it over neatly and send it off."

Harry grabbed fresh parchment to do exactly that. After the first few paragraphs, he reached for the Hershey's bag. There were a grand total of two chocolates left. He threw one at Sirius, which bounced off his forehead.

"Are we out of those already?" Sirius asked, sounding surprised, as he bent to grab the chocolate off the floor.

"At the rate you've been going through them, it shouldn't be surprising," Harry informed him. He popped the chocolate in his mouth, crumpling the foil and aiming it at the bullseye sketched on the wall, then went rummaging in the shopping bag for the peanut butter. "Nearly out of this, too. Which shouldn't be too surprising either. The way you eat, you'd think you hadn't had a decent meal in a decade."

"I haven't," Sirius said, with such blackness in the tone that Harry wanted to kick himself.

"So what are your favorite foods?" Harry asked hurriedly. "I can probably cook them, whatever they are, as long as you get the ingredients—and pots," he added. "There's no way I can do, say, spaghetti and sauce with just my cauldron to cook in, not without one of them being cold before the other one's cooked—speaking of which, how am I going to cook anything in here with no stove?"

"Simple," Sirius said, in a tone that, if not bright, was at least not dark. "You say, 'Sirius, would you please light a fire?'"

"Sirius, would you please light a fire?"

Sirius snickered. Harry had imitated him perfectly. "_Inflamare_. _Flammafrigido_." A blue fire appeared just above the floor where Sirius had pointed his wand, with an odd sheen to the flames. "That ought to burn till I put it out or collapse from exhaustion, and it shouldn't actually burn anything."

Harry reached for the fire, curious. "Tickles," he observed.

"Good, then I did the charm right." Sirius turned to the mirror, the one that wasn't playing window, and began transfiguring himself to the blond green-eyed stranger. Harry went back to copying.

xXxXx

"DAMN THAT WOMAN!"

Aletha's glass went flying. Alex ducked. The glass made a very satisfying smash against the wall of Aletha's London semidetached.

"_Reparo_! _Accio_!"

The glass went flying again. Remus sidestepped it and snatched the _Evening Prophet_ off the kitchen table. On catching sight of the front page, he discovered that he couldn't blame Aletha in the least. "How did she find out?" he demanded of no one in particular.

**Harry Potter Kidnapped By Sirius Black, **read the headline, in font size gargantuan. The only headline Remus could remember that was larger was the one on the breakout, but then that had had shorter words and fewer of them. _Black betrayed Potters; Boy-Who-Lived feared dead_ ran across the page underneath, in size rather large. The byline read "Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent".

Remus scanned the article. "Word for bloody word, almost," he said, throwing the paper down in disgust. "Exactly the way I told you this morning. But we all know she wasn't in the room, and I wasn't talking loudly enough to be heard in the hallway..."

"My personal theory is she's got a bug in Amelia's office," Aletha explained, calmer now that she'd broken her glass six or seven times. "Anytime the Head of the DMLE works on Sunday, there's something big going on, and Rita's got her little story front-page in a day or two. What I'm curious to know is how she found out what happened at Harry's aunt's and how long he's been gone."

"'Thirty-six hours wasted demiguise-hunting,'" Hermione quoted.

"And she probably interviewed Petunia for the rest of it," Danger added from her place at the stove, stirring the stir-fry. She'd invited Remus, Aletha, and Meghan to her house for dinner, but Aletha had vetoed that, as Danger's house didn't have a Floo hookup. "I gather you don't like this Rita person."

Aletha proceeded to give Danger chapter and verse on the subject of Rita Skeeter's articles. Remus interjected comments whenever he thought it necessary.

"Ms. Freeman?" a voice called from the back room, interrupting the tirade. Meghan jumped up from the table and ran to see who was there. Indistinct sounds of voices, then the distinctive _whoosh_ sound of someone using the Floo.

_Whoosh_ again. Meghan ran back into the room, followed by two sooty, freckly redheads, a tall boy and a small girl. "What's this about Harry being kidnapped?" the boy demanded.

"It's true," Hermione said from her seat at the table, newspaper spread in front of her. "Come look at this—Rita Skeeter got everything right, it looks like..."

"Planning to introduce your friends, Hermione?" Remus asked mildly.

She went red. "Oh, sorry—this is Ron Weasley, he's a friend of Harry's and mine, and this is his sister Ginny—why are you here, anyway?" she asked her.

Ginny blushed so red it must have hurt. "He saved my life," she said firmly. "I have to help him."

Remus raised an eyebrow at that. What sort of trouble could a girl—she looked all of eleven—get into that would require a rescuer? But an explanation was not immediately forthcoming, as Hermione went on with the introductions. "That's Ms. Freeman—"

"Letha," Aletha interrupted.

"—Letha, then, this is her house, and her daughter Meghan, my cousin Alex, my aunt Gertrude but call her Danger, and—" She broke off. Remus suspected she didn't know _how_ to introduce him. She'd been four when they'd—_met_ was as good a word as any, he supposed—and had never called him 'Mr. Lupin'. 'Uncle Moony' was embarrassing to her and wouldn't be appropriate for Ron and Ginny (nor was it really appropriate for her, since they'd first met in the flesh that morning). Technically speaking he was not yet 'Professor Lupin', and it was logical to expect that he wouldn't want new acquaintances, particularly children, calling him 'Remus'. No matter what he'd put in the letter to Harry.

"Remus Lupin," Remus said, holding out a hand to Ron, who was nearer. "Remus will do until September. Pleased to meet you."

"Why until September?" Ginny asked, sitting down next to Hermione.

"He'll be our Defense teacher," Hermione said, still poring over the article.

Ron snorted. "Can't be worse than Lockhart. I hope you don't set as much bookwork as he did. Never liked Defense anyway."

"I hope you are not prejudging me by my predecessors," Remus said delicately.

After a moment to work out what the words meant, Ron flushed. "No—no, of course not—I mean, I'm sure you're a good teacher—I don't actually know yet, of course—I mean—"

"How do you walk like that?" Alex asked curiously.

"Huh?" was Ron's eloquent response.

"With your foot stuffed down your throat like that," Alex clarified. "How do you keep your balance?"

Ron went purple. Alex fled.

xXxXx

The blue flame went out in a curl of smoke. A moment later, the overhead light winked out, leaving the room in total darkness. There wasn't even any light from the stars.

_That isn't supposed to happen, is it?_ Harry wondered. There'd been stars, a minute ago. Not many, since it wasn't all that long after sunset, but there'd been stars nonetheless.

He shivered, suddenly cold. _No fair. This is August. It's not supposed to be cold._ He got up and headed towards where he thought his trunk was, intending to dig out his winter cloak and use it for a blanket.

A rustling from the entrance, like the edge of a cloak sliding across rock. Harry whipped around. _Something's coming._

_No, some**one**. Is that why it went cold and dark?_

_And of course Sirius has my wand...wait. The knife. It's got to be around here somewhere..._

Whoever was in the entranceway drew a long, slow, rattling breath.

_Cold...very cold...screaming...help her...have to help her...can't see...can't breathe...too cold...falling..._

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	6. For In That Sleep

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 6: For In That Sleep

_Back to home sweet hole-in-the-wall,_ Sirius thought, hefting the bag of magically-chilled food supplies in one arm (delicately, so it wouldn't bump the busted wrist) and the bag of carefully-cleaned-and-checked-for-curses kitchen implements in the other. He didn't have much faith in Harry's ability to cook an omelet without burning the eggs (the kid had probably never actually touched a stove), and considerably less in his own. But then, given the quality of Azkaban food, the only difference between a burnt omelet and a perfectly cooked one would be how far into culinary heaven it took him.

Of course, an omelet required a frying pan and so forth, so he'd snuck into his family house in London to raid the kitchen. Judging by the amount of dust around, he needn't have bothered with stealth.

_Three, two, one, go—needairneedairneedair—_pop—_sweet **air**—cold—dark—Lumos!—much better—wait—_

_It's bloody **cold** out here._

_Dementor cold._

_**Harry!**_

The bags went flying. Sirius hurtled up the entranceway—ten feet, but it seemed to take forever. Then he was in the cave—he felt his heart stop.

Harry, sprawled across floor, eyes closed, glasses askew, too pale, too still. Black-cloaked figure, bent over, rotting gray hands, hood down, gray slimy skull, face far too close to Harry's.

_Oh no oh no oh no—please God—_"_Expecto patronum_!"

Silver mist—fading—nothing. The dementor half-turned, as if to give Sirius a considering glance with its eyeless face, then drew a long rattling breath. The wand light flickered and vanished. A wave of cold crashed over Sirius—

"_Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?" Peter yelled, sobbing. "How **could** you?"_

"_Little liar," Sirius snarled, softly, so that only Peter could hear. "Little traitor. Little **rat**." Anger was good. Anger left no room for despair. Anger kept him from feeling his world coming apart. "How **dare** you." And he pulled his wand._

_The slightest hint of a smirk on Peter's face. A glint of metal in the light._

_**Boom**._

_Sirius threw himself forward—he **had** to grab Peter before he got away—and—_slime on his fingers. Glacial cold. A muffled thud as whoever he'd tackled hit the ground, Sirius on top. Icy rotting hand around one wrist. Other icy rotting hand around neck, choking. Long rattling breath—frosty air—_"—little blood-traitor, I'm ashamed that you're blood of mine—"_

Fire in wrist, jerking him out of memory. Eyeless skull bare inch from face. Close mouth, twist, roll. Fling self over Harry. Won't let it Kiss him—not unless it already has—don't think about that. Breathe—calm down—"_Ex—pecto—patro—num_!"—didn't work. _Breathe._

Panting, Sirius shifted so that he was lying across Harry, with Harry's mouth against Sirius's shoulder—be damned hard to Kiss him that way—and both Sirius's arms over Harry's head, the broken one uppermost, both because that put the intact arm in a better position to keep Harry's head down and because if the dementor tried to send Sirius down memory lane aka the road to hell, then move Sirius's arms to get at Harry, the pain from the wrist would jolt him out. Bonus points because the wand, still clutched in the bad hand, was pointed in the dementor's general direction.

As an afterthought, Sirius twisted his head so that it lay against Harry's, as something else keeping the dementor well clear of Harry, and with Sirius's mouth close to Harry's neck and a comfortable distance from the dementor's mouth.

_Who says I can't be prudent?_

Now all he could do was wait, and pray that the dementor went away before he ran out of strength to resist—and pray that Harry hadn't been Kissed before he'd gotten there, or in the few seconds that he'd been off in la-la land, dementor-style. (And ignore the conclusions anyone would draw if they were seen in this pose, dementor or no dementor. At least the fact that he could see the humor in this augured well for his sanity.)

Harry was cold as ice—that couldn't be good. Pulse beat, slow, weak, but there, and steady—a good sign, if it mattered. The Dementor's Kiss didn't kill the body. Just the soul.

"_Expecto patronum_," Sirius managed, weakly. The flash of silver light told him he'd gotten _some_thing, but the speed at which it faded seemed to contradict the possibility that he'd gotten anything useful, and the strength it had taken from him—well, if he stayed conscious another minute, it'd be miraculous. Five would take divine intervention. At least the flimsy Patronus had given him two seconds to breathe warmish air.

_James, forgive me—Lily—Harry—_

One more try—_Happy memories. Aletha. Remember Aletha._—"_Expecto patronum_..."

Silver light. Gone.

_Okay, that was dumb._

Darkness.

xXxXx

It was cold, and dark. He was drowning. He had to get out—get to the surface—even if trying killed him, it was better than dying doing nothing—and it was the only way to live, and living beat dying no contest.

The darkness was heavy around him, dragging him down. He had to fight—had to breathe—get to the surface—

"—_tronum_," said a vaguely familiar hoarse whisper.

He broke through to air. Or he thought he had, at least; air still wasn't getting into his lungs, but it wasn't the chill darkness that prevented it. He told his eyes to open, but they refused to obey. Another wave of cold swept over him, but metaphorically speaking, he was treading water to stay afloat; as long as he kept his mouth shut, he only had to wait for the wave to pass, and he was fine.

There, it was gone. Now to figure out which way to shore...It took Herculean effort, but he got his eyes open. Not that it mattered much, given how dark it was. Odd...there seemed to be a great deal of weight on him, most of it not metaphorical...

"_Expecto patronum_," came that same hoarse whisper. Silver light flared, almost blindingly bright against the darkness, bringing a breath of warmth, and faded, leaving a reverse image etched on his retina.

His mind went spinning off in two directions at once. One side saw the silhouettes of half a head and an arm, felt the steady beat against one shoulder and the dead weight down most of his body; the other, the figure illuminated in the brief light.

The Grim Reaper, if there had been a scythe in sight. A figure straight out of a nightmare.

This part of his mind decided that it might be a good idea to get hold of his wand and make the demon _go away_. The other side offered the helpful detail of the shadows that might be fingers wrapped around a slim rod, then went back to its own ponderings. He carefully worked his arm out from under the weight slumped atop him and began to feel his way up to that rod.

_But what spell would work against a demon?_

'_Expecto patronum',_ he thought, remembering how the silver light made the demon flinch back. Maybe that would drive it away?

A long rattling breath. Another wave of cold—deep breath, ride it out. Fight the force dragging him under—he hadn't the strength to break loose again if he succumbed. The demon—it must be the demon doing that.

_Yeah, definitely got to make it go away...there!_ He slid the wand out of the limp fingers that held it. "_Expecto patronum_," he whispered, pushing magic through it in the way that two years of Hogwarts had made familiar.

Nothing happened.

Just about then, the other part of his mind sorted through respective positions and came to a conclusion. _He's protecting me._

_Does he—care?_

"_Expecto patronum!_"

Silver light shone like the sun—he squeezed his eyes shut. He preferred himself not blind. After a long moment and a slight rustling like the edge of a cloak trailing on the ground, the air warmed perceptibly—it seemed the demon had gone. Slowly, the light faded.

He opened his eyes. Whatever spell that was, it worked beautifully. No demon, no cold, and the stars were back.

There was still the minor problem of his having severe difficulties breathing. Easily enough solvable, he supposed, except that he was so _tired_...still, he finally managed to get them rolled over. The other one woke with a jerk and a muffled phrase that it was probably just as well that it hadn't come out clearly.

"Harry?"

_Oh, is that my name?_ he wondered drowsily. _So tired..._

"Harry?" Sirius asked again, with an edge of panic. "Are you all right?"

"'M fine," he whispered, unable to summon the energy to speak louder. "Tired."

He felt Sirius's breath whoosh out in relief. "I'm so glad you're all right." A pause. "Where'd the dementor go?"

"Is'at what it's called?" He stifled a yawn, wondering why the question had even been asked. "'S'not here, 's'all that matters."

"Why'd it leave?"

Would the man never let him _sleep_? "Scared it off. Same spell you tried." Sirius sucked in a large amount of air, vaguely surprising Harry. Why was Sirius so amazed that Harry had successfully used Sirius's spell? "Can we talk in the morning?"

He slid into dreamland without waiting for an answer.

xXxXx

The world blurred and resolved itself into a single lit lamp casting shadows around an unfamiliar room. "This was a wonderful idea in theory," she observed aloud.

"Didn't work?" asked a familiar voice from across the room.

"What are you doing awake?" Danger asked, surprised.

"Trying to solve this puzzle." Remus waved Harry's second letter at her. "I _think_ I've figured out what Sirius is trying to tell us, but I can't reconcile it with what else I know." He sighed. "Harry's got some good points here. I can't help wondering why no one saw any of that before...The only conclusion I can come to is that Peter survived that blast somehow. But that doesn't make any sense. Among other things, if Peter's alive, why haven't I seen him since three weeks before he supposedly died?" He threw the letter back down on Meghan's desk. "It makes no sense. But then we knew that. What about you—made any progress?"

"Nothing." Danger heaved a sigh. "He might as well not exist."

"Dead?" Remus asked, instantly alert.

"Maybe. I don't know."

It was, as Danger had said, a wonderful plan in theory. The Weasleys and Aletha had taken quite a bit of convincing before they would accept that it might work, but they'd finally given up protesting after Remus had swiped a vial of Aletha's sleeping potion and given all three an hour's dose. An hour had been more than long enough for Danger to prove her point.

They knew Hermione had woven her dreams with Harry's, and a bit of experimentation had proven that Danger could weave together the dreams of every dreamer in the house by a combination of blood ties, other ties, and physical proximity. (Hermione, Ginny, and Meghan were sharing the big bed that was usually Aletha's, Ron and Alex were supposedly both in the bed in the guest bedroom though one had undoubtedly evicted the other by now, Remus and Danger were in Meghan's room, and Aletha had taken a blanket and the living room sofa.) The important part was that Danger, with Hermione pointedly not helping, had been able to step into both Ginny's and Meghan's dreams simply because they were sleeping next to Hermione.

In theory, this meant that once a connection to Harry's dreams had been established and verified via Hermione, she, Alex, and/or Danger could find Sirius Black (surely he wasn't far from Harry), and Aletha (and Remus, if he ever went to sleep) could use that connection to enter Sirius's dreams and have a "nice casual conversation". Those were Aletha's exact words, though the look in her eye gave Danger the impression that that wasn't exactly Aletha's intention. The children, meanwhile, possibly excluding Meghan whom Harry hadn't met and Alex whom he was unlikely to remember, would talk to and reassure Harry and attempt to get some useful information out of him.

In practice, Harry was proving difficult to weave dreams with.

It was possible, as Remus had suggested, that Harry was dead, and therefore had no dreams to weave. It was more likely that he just wasn't asleep. But Danger had no way to tell the difference, and no way to affect it in either case.

Remus sighed, bringing Danger back to reality. "Let's keep on trying. It's not like we have any better ideas."

"Not for lack of trying," Danger said, sliding back down against the pillow. "Come to bed, love. You're supposed to be part of this too."

Unless she missed her guess, Remus was suddenly looking very awkward. "Er. Yes. About that."

Danger sat up, wondering what was up. Remus came over to her and knelt. She fought a smile, suddenly knowing what was happening.

"I realize this may seem a bit sudden," Remus began, "since technically we've only been together for—about twenty-nine hours—"

_He's going to take a week to come round to the actual question. And this despite the fact that we've been dreaming of being happily married for a decade and a half, and have introduced ourselves to just about everyone as being engaged. I think I'll speed things up a trifle. _"If this is a marriage proposal," Danger interrupted, "the answer is, 'Yes, and what took you so long to ask?'"

Remus stared at her, speechless, apparently overcome with joy. Neither was a condition Danger had ever seen him in. "Tomorrow sound good?" he said after a few false starts.

"Tomorrow sounds _great_," Danger agreed. "It'll have to be after Aletha gets back from work—I suppose I'll be calling in sick again—my mother's going to hate me, she won't get to meet you till we've been married for weeks—"

"And we can worry about all that in the morning," Remus interrupted. "Right now, you have two dreams to track down."

"Come to bed, then," she said on a yawn. "I expect I'll sleep better with you there."

Remus grinned at her. "I'm sure you will."

xXxXx

"For God's _sake_!"

Hermione took another run at the boundary between the two dreams, and found herself stopped just shy of it, _again_.

"Come on—Harry—let us—through," Ron said from next to her, punctuating the sentence by thumping his fists on the invisible wall. Ginny, on Hermione's other side, had somehow acquired something like a chisel, and was trying to work it through cracks in the boundary line (hampered somewhat by the fact that no cracks seemed to exist).

It was Harry's dream they were looking into, no doubt about that. A one-year-old with tousled black hair lay on a couch within what must be a visualization of Harry's parents' house, green eyes blinking sleepily. Every few seconds, though, the toddler-Harry _flickered—_there was no other word for it—revealing a toddler-sized version of the teenage Harry Hermione knew. This Harry had his eyes wide open and filled with a fear that made Hermione want to charge in and drag him out of there, but there was a very distinct line between the book-filled room she stood in and the living room where Harry was, and she _could not cross it!_

All in all, she was ready to start using some of the phrases Uncle Moony wasn't supposed to have used in her hearing.

"No luck?" Uncle Moony asked from behind her, as if the thought of him had summoned him to the dream world, because he certainly hadn't been there a moment ago. A sharp intake of air told her that he'd seen what the three children were watching. "That's Voldemort," he said flatly, "there in the shadows, and James, and Lily with Harry, and...that's odd..." All of which Hermione had deduced for herself, but it was nice to hear it confirmed. Moony moved to Ron's other side and pushed at the boundary, but it didn't budge for him any more than it had for anyone else.

The dream-figure of Harry's father shouted a warning to Harry's mother, for the third time since Hermione had finally found Harry's dream, the words echoing oddly through the dream-barrier. She snatched up Harry and ran for the stairs, the dream-perspective changing as she ran so that the view stayed essentially centered on Harry.

The sounds of scuffling and shouted spells from the bottom of the stairs were audible, if indistinct, and the flashes of light were clearly visible. The high, cold voice that must be Voldemort's shouted something that sounded like "Avadakadavra," there was a flash of green light from the bottom of the stairs, a thump, and Moony winced. "That's James dead," he muttered.

Lily turned a fearful look down the stairs, but kept moving. She ducked into the next room, closing the door with a silent spell, and clutched Harry in a tight hug, kissing him once on the forehead, just where his scar was—wasn't—before setting him down in his crib. Her wand moved in an intricate motion, but there was no visible effect.

The door flew open. Lily whirled. The tall cloaked figure gestured with his wand, and hers went flying. He gestured again, with the obvious intent of sending her flying in the opposite direction, but she grabbed hold of the crib bars, and though it skidded a few inches, she stayed between the just-waking Harry and Voldemort.

Voldemort ordered her to move aside. Lily refused, begging, tears in her eyes, that he let Harry be. ("She's playacting," Moony said quietly. "She's got an ace up her sleeve.") Voldemort repeated his order; Lily insisted he kill her first, kill her instead of Harry.

"Ah!" Moony exclaimed, as if he'd just had an epiphany. Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. "I know what she did," he explained quickly. "Verbal contract. Magically binding. Her life for Harry's. She must have set it up beforehand, just in case..."

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Voldemort shouted, and Lily screamed. The jet of green light struck her dead in the heart, her eyes closed, and she slumped to the ground, a small but triumphant smile on her face.

"Signed and sealed," Moony muttered. "Exactly like she wanted it."

Harry shrieked. With true dream-logic, the shriek was simultaneously high-pitched and wordless, from Harry the toddler, and a terrified "_Mum! NO!_" from Harry the teenager. A burst of _something_, undoubtedly accidental magic from toddler-Harry, knocked Voldemort back four feet into the wall.

Voldemort turned and smirked at Harry, withdrawing something bronze with a sparkling sapphire from a pocket of his robes. He caressed it for a moment, a frightening smile on his snakelike face, then with a wordless savage gesture threw a spell at Harry.

_Black_ light. But no—not true black, but the darkest green Hermione could possibly have imagined—

The spell struck Harry on the forehead—then flew straight back at Voldemort, leaving a jagged, bleeding cut on Harry's right temple. Voldemort moved out of its path, a look of shock on his face—it curved its path to hit where his heart should have been. Voldemort evaporated in a blaze of white light, leaving something not quite visible that could only be described as a shadow, letting the bronze torque fall to the floor. The light circled around to its origin, tearing the shadow in two. The larger shadow fled. The light carried the smaller shadow back to a wide-eyed Harry, where the shadow fused to the open edges of the cut, burning it closed, leaving the familiar lightning scar.

Harry howled in pain, letting loose a second, stronger burst of accidental magic that seemed likely to reduce the house to toothpicks, but before it got anywhere, the scene blurred, and came into focus again on James talking with Lily in the living room, with Harry sleeping next to Lily on the sofa.

It had only been four seconds since the image of Lily's death. The entire loop had only taken five minutes.

"That," Moony said slowly, "was not the Killing Curse."

"What was it, then?" Ginny asked, tearing her eyes away from Lily running up the stairs with Harry.

"God only knows." He was silent a moment. "Fine memory loop Harry's got himself stuck in here. If we're going to get in there, it'll be when it loops back to the start..._Danger!_" he shouted.

Aunt Danger materialized, Alex squirming as she twisted his ear. "...work to do, young man, and sneaking off to watch football is both selfish and very rude..." She glanced around. "Found him, then? Took long enough."

"Not that long," Hermione said. "We've been watching his nightmare for, oh, fifteen minutes now? He's not letting us in."

Alex pulled free and faked an expression of jaw-dropping shock. "Not letting us in? Not even you? His most perfect, bestest friend ever, except for freckle-nose here?"

Hermione stepped between Ron and her cousin, glaring at the latter. "Shut up and look at what's happening to him in there, and see how funny it is," she snapped. "And then you can help me break through when it loops back."

Alex walked ostentatiously around Hermione, keeping her between himself and Ron, and began to watch. A few seconds' worth of Voldemort wiped the stupid look off his face, and he muttered two or three of the phrases Hermione'd been close to using earlier as Lily begged for Harry's life.

Aunt Danger stepped up to Hermione's other shoulder and laid her hand on it. "I'm with you too," she said quietly.

They waited through the black-light-white-light scene, Moony watching with a frown, cataloguing every detail to talk to death later. Ron's fists were clenching and unclenching, and Ginny kept wiping a hand across her forehead.

"Three, two, one," Hermione muttered. "Now!" She snatched hands in both of hers and leaped for the dream-barrier as the scene blurred.

Penetrating the barrier felt like going through a giant soap bubble. Harry's head whipped around. "Hermione! And—Hermione—" His eyes flicked back and forth, panicked, between Hermione and Danger, missing Alex entirely. "Hermione, you've got to get _out_ of here—"

Hermione yanked her hands free and ran forward. "Harry, it's all right, you're just dreaming—"

Harry didn't seem to hear. "Hermione, _run_, he'll be after you too—"

"Harry, it's just a _dream_—"

The dream-Lily fled up the stairs with the toddler Harry. The teenage version, left behind on the couch, slid off and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. "Hermione, _go!_" He pushed her back; she stumbled a bit, but stayed upright. He looked towards Danger. "You—big Hermione—will you get her _out of here_? If you stay, you'll just die like Mum and Dad—"

"No, we won't," Danger said calmly. "This is a dream. The worst that can happen is we wake up."

That didn't change the look of anguish on Harry's face at all. "You don't understand, Hermione! It's me he wants—if you're here with me, he'll kill you too—"

"Harry, will you _listen_ to me?" Hermione shouted. "This! Is! A! Dream! He _can't_ hurt me, don't you get it?"

She could feel an odd pull from Harry's direction, very like what she'd felt when Danger was trying to bring Hermione from her own dream into another—but no, the tug _was_ from Danger, through Harry but not aimed at Hermione, she was just feeling some spillover—

No, it wasn't from Danger either—the feel was decidedly male, and too young to be Moony—

Hermione whirled on her cousin, standing close to the wall they'd come in through. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"It's under control," Alex said breezily. He was pulling on the strongest of the links Harry had to others, Hermione realized—but Harry didn't _have_ any close blood-bonds, except to his aunt and cousin, nor any friendship-bonds except to Ron and to Hermione herself; none of those were involved, and this one fit neither category and was stronger than any of those in any case—

_Oh, no. It can't be—_

"Alex, _stop!_" Hermione screamed.

Alex turned a weary expression of 'what on earth are you worried about' on her.

The dream-figure of Voldemort, just turning away from the dream-James dead at his feet, snapped into the clearer focus that Hermione now knew meant _real person_.

Alex took an involuntary step back, into the wall. Danger's face went dead white.

Hermione could only think two words, uncharacteristic as they might be.

_Oh shit._

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	7. What Dreams May Come

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 7: What Dreams May Come

_I really messed it up this time, didn't I._

"It's under control, is it, Alex?" Dad—no, _Mr. Lupin_, must remember that—said softly from behind the dream-barrier, with that _edge_ to the tone that was about the only thing that could ever scare him.

_Yep. Definitely in deep stinky doo-doo._

The black-robed figure that looked like an elongated skeleton draped with white skin—Lord Voldemort, Alex reminded himself, though he preferred Ms. Letha's very descriptive 'Snakeface'—turned slowly on his heel, taking in the scene. Glowing ruby eyes with catlike slits—eyes were never meant to be that color—alit briefly upon Mum, Hermione, and Alex in turn, dismissing each as unimportant, then landed on Harry, barely five feet from him.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly, and the high-pitched voice sent icy chills down Alex's spine. "Such a pleasure to see you again."

"Go to hell," Harry snarled back. Hermione gasped. Alex didn't know why she was surprised. He knew she didn't like swearing, but if ever there was a time for it, this was it.

Voldemort smiled, a thin, lipless smile. "I think not."

"What, you expect me to believe St. Peter will let you anywhere near the Pearly Gates?" Harry snapped back. "The only thing that might keep you out of hell is if the devil's too scared of you to let you in."

_Just what we need,_ Alex thought. _**Two** smart-alecs._ Then he had to snicker, but silently—he did not envy Harry that hellspawn's attention. _But there's only one of me..._

Voldemort's smile grew a trifle wider. "Such courage. I do value courage. A pity I must kill you...you would make a fine servant..."

_Not good...if you die in dreams, you die in reality..._

_Well, maybe not, never met anyone who'd died in a dream, but I'm not anxious to find out...and I can't do anything to even the odds, can't change it at all, I'm not the one dreaming this and I'm not the one who made him dream this..._

_I wonder—I can't possibly make it any worse than I already have—_

Alex gave a cautious tug to the second-strongest of the bonds that connected Harry's—mind? Soul?—to someone else's. It had a very different feel than the first one—not terribly surprising, since that one linked Harry to his parents' murderer. _And if I'd just seen that earlier..._

A thump behind him and to one side told him that one of the spectators on the far side of the dream-barrier had just been propelled into what amounted to a brick wall. _Probably Freckles,_ Alex thought. He knew from what Hermione had said in dreams that Harry and Ron were the best of friends, though it hadn't once occurred to her to put last names to the boys. (As if it would have mattered—Alex had never heard of the Weasleys and until Sunday had been thinking Harry's last name was Dursley.)

_Let's try third-strongest..._ no, that was a blood-bond. There was another element to it, something completely unfamiliar, but a blood-bond it certainly was. Petunia Dursley's 'feel' was unmistakable. Mostly because she had quite a bit in common with her son, and Alex was intimately familiar with the feel of Dudley's mind. (Dudley would likely never learn that certain recurring nightmares of his were in fact Alex's work.)

"_Must_ kill me?" Harry asked, with an expression on the visible half of his face that told Alex that Harry's curiosity had just trumped his common sense.

There were three bonds that just about tied for fourth-strongest, though one was rather newer than the other two—or considerably older—whatever. Alex picked one of the other two and tugged. Hermione skidded towards him a few inches. Number two—another thump from behind. Little Red? From the way she blushed whenever his name came up, she had a _major_ crush on Harry...but that sort of thing wasn't usually strong enough to create a bond like this...and Mr. Lupin hadn't known Harry for more than a tenth of his life, and the longest-ago tenth at that..._contemplate later, Alex, work to do._

There was something blocking the older/newer one...if Alex had to guess, he'd say the person on the other end was wide awake. But a little subtle dreamshaping—no, the term was 'dreamweaving'—and s/he would be out like a light...

"Oh yes," Voldemort whispered, though the words were perfectly clear. "I spent thirty years becoming the greatest sorcerer in the world—"

"You're not," Harry interrupted, his voice full of quiet hatred.

_Go Harry!_ But Alex couldn't pay much attention to the drama; whoever it was on the far end of the link, though obviously desperately worried about Harry—_no kidding, he's with Sirius Black_—was being exceptionally stubborn about remaining awake.

"Not what?" Voldemort asked, his voice dangerous.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry, breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try to take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days—"

There was a snort from Hermione's direction, the first sign in minutes that she wasn't a statue. On her far side, Mum was doing something, tilting the playing field in their favor as best she could, Alex was sure, but carefully, making sure Voldemort wouldn't notice. Alex ignored them both in favor of contemplating how to make Harry's friend go to sleep.

"Hiding no longer," Voldemort said, his frightening little smile back. "I believe the proper way to announce my return will be to display from the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower the flayed and gutted corpse of the boy who defeated me twice before, and whom I shall now defeat in turn."

Mum and Hermione both went green, and Alex felt a little green himself. Harry didn't twitch a hair. There was a steely glint in his emerald eyes. "I was one, the first time I beat you," he said quietly. "I'm stronger now. Bring it _on_."

Something flashed through Voldemort's eyes, gone too quickly to identify. In a heartbeat, his wand was pointed square at Harry, the motion too fast to be seen. "_Crucio_!"

Harry collapsed, screaming, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. Alex winced. _That's gotta hurt...come on, you, you're nearly asleep, I know you're worried for Harry, you'll be able to help him much better if you're asleep too..._

A hint of a smile appeared on Mum's face. Behind Voldemort, the dream-figure of Harry's dead father lurched to his feet and delivered a right hook to the back of Voldemort's head.

Voldemort whirled with a snarl, going, if possible, paler. Judging by the momentarily crossed eyes Alex had seen, that punch had _hurt_.

One "_Reducto_!" and Harry's father was splattered red history. But the distraction had done its job. Harry was back on his feet.

Voldemort pivoted back to face Harry, but turned, his eyes traveling unerringly to the source of the distraction. Alex's mother.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Voldemort shouted. For a peculiar moment, Mum's brown eyes seemed as green as Harry's, because of the acid-green light reflected in them as it flew towards her. She closed her eyes as the spell hit—and vanished.

"HERMIONE!" Harry shouted.

_Avada Kedavra_ was the Killing Curse, Alex remembered.

_If you die in dreams, you die in reality._

_Please God no._

Mr. Lupin, behind Alex, said something involving much swearing that amounted to the same thing.

Harry's gaze had followed the green light along its path. Now he looked back at Voldemort. "You killed her," he said softly, and Alex's instincts told him that this skinny boy, only three years older and barely taller than Alex himself, was suddenly more dangerous than anyone Alex had ever seen. _Including_ the hellspawn in front of him. "I hope you like hell."

He charged.

If there was anything Voldemort didn't know how to react to, this was it. Harry, a strange light in his eyes, was punching every inch of Voldemort he could reach. Judging by the cracks Alex was hearing, that walking skeleton was a very _fragile_ walking skeleton, now sporting at least three broken ribs and a fractured left arm.

Naturally, this infuriated Voldemort, who was maddened further still by the fact that Harry was completely ignoring most of the spells Voldemort was hitting him with. _Crucio_ knocked him to the ground, yes, but he was biting his lip and refusing to scream, and through what looked like sheer bloody-mindedness he was forcing himself back upright despite the spell. _Avada Kedavra_ he simply dodged, so that the worst he got was a scorch hole in his T-shirt and a raw red mark below the hole where the fringe of the curse brushed him.

"Harry, _catch_!" Hermione shouted, and threw—something—across the space between them. Harry turned to her and snatched the something from the air. It rippled and shifted, and snapped into focus as a gleaming silver sword, a large ruby glittering at the end of the handle.

Harry pivoted in place, holding the sword in both hands, looking, despite the bruises and blood and his small stature, like a hero out of legend. But there was a gray tinge to his skin—he was running out of strength, he couldn't go on much longer. If he didn't or couldn't wake himself before he completely exhausted himself, he'd be in deep trouble—and if he couldn't fight and couldn't wake, Voldemort would kill him.

Somehow that struck Alex as a bad thing.

"On guard," Harry whispered.

With a wave of his wand, a sword appeared in Voldemort's hand, twin to Harry's but with emeralds instead of rubies. He swung it straight for Harry's neck. It slid off Harry's sword with a metal screech and a shower of sparks, and the fight was on.

Just then, on the far end of the mind-bond Alex was manipulating, Harry's friend slid into sleep. Alex yanked on the link. _Hard_.

A tall, pale, dark-haired man tumbled out of nowhere and hit the floor with a thud. Harry didn't even glance in his direction, being more intent on attacking like a madman—or trying to—than in other people invading his dream. Voldemort did look at the new person, though, and his face twisted. The momentary distraction gave Harry the chance to land a good blow, his sword biting into Voldemort's shoulder.

The man rolled to his feet and ran, circling the combatants, eyes flicking frantically around. Alex didn't know what he was looking for—probably something he could do, Alex realized. He had a wand out, but Harry was moving so fast, there was no way he could be sure any spells aimed at Voldemort wouldn't hit Harry.

"Sirius!" gasped Mr. Lupin behind Alex. Startled, Alex took a closer look at the man.

_Sirius Black!_

_What did I say before about not making it any worse?_

Obviously the opinion of a second ago needed rethinking. Black couldn't fire off spells at _Harry_ because they might hit _Voldemort_.

Hermione hissed something, turned, and ran to Alex. "We've got to get that barrier down," she whispered quickly. "Moony can't do anything to Black if he's behind it."

"Never mind him," Alex whispered back. There was an easier way to get someone here who would like nothing better than to pound Black to a pulp. He felt for the people close to Hermione, then having found the salt-water-wind girl, hauled on her blood-bonds.

Black skidded three feet closer to Alex—now why was that? A few feet from Alex, Ms. Letha appeared.

_Bingo._

"_Now_ we can try to get this down," Alex told Hermione.

"_You!_" Voldemort snarled. Alex didn't turn away from the barrier, nor did Hermione. But then something told him, _look_.

Alex looked.

There was a jet of acid-green light bearing down on him at Mach 2.

_Alex, wake up!_

xXxXx

_This kid's really something,_ Sirius thought, trying to wriggle his way into a semi-vertical position without disturbing the boy using him for a pillow. Thirteen years old and pint-sized, not five minutes after he'd been out cold from dementor breath and half an inch from the Dementor's Kiss, and Harry could pull off a better Patronus than someone twenty years older who had a fair bit of power himself. And that was despite his never having heard of the spell before (else he'd probably have called it by name). Yeah, the kid was amazing.

_Not that I'd expect anything else from James and Lily's son._

Harry started tossing around, twisting in Sirius's arms. Sirius thought he heard a whisper, something like "Mum, no..."

_Having a nightmare, probably. Somehow I'm not surprised. Dementors. There are no swearwords adequate to describe dementors._

Then Sirius smacked himself on the forehead. _Shouldn't have let him go to sleep. Not till he had some chocolate, anyway. I could do with some myself..._ "_Accio_ bags!"

The two paper bags obediently soared through the entrance. One clanked against the floor next to Harry's trunk. The other hit the floor by Sirius with a splat.

_So much for that omelet._

He cleaned up the broken eggs—no sense letting them go rotten—then dug into the chocolate, which tasted like heaven, and relaxed against the wall, or mostly relaxed. He didn't dare go to sleep, not till sunrise, not with dementors wandering about. They'd all be in hiding by dawn...there was something about sunlight they didn't like...or something about daytime; he seemed to recall that they didn't venture out much on cloudy days, either...not that it mattered, in Azkaban. There was more than enough stone between the inhabitants and the sky.

Sirius caught himself yawning. _No. I will not go to sleep. I will **not**. If we're both asleep, he's got no protection...hell, he's got no protection if it's just me asleep. I can't imagine that he could have done a Patronus as powerful as he did without running very low on magic...he's only thirteen, after all..._

_More chocolate,_ Sirius decided. Aside from the anti-dementor effects, something in it—'cafeen', Letha had called it—kept people awake, supposedly. Which was a good thing.

But he kept on yawning despite the 'cafeen'...so tired...sleep..._no_ sleep...yes sleep...

The world blurred—

Thud.

_Ow._

_Oh God._

_Harry._

_**Voldemort**._

_Coulda sworn he was dead...hi, there, Coldyshorts, I love you too...yeah Harry! That's my boy! Make him **bleed**!_

_Now to figure out how to help him take Lord-He's-Ugly down...God he's fast. I don't dare try any spells, I might hit him instead of What's-His-Name..._

"Sirius!"

A familiar voice, but not immediately identifiable. Sirius glanced over. Two brunette children stood in Lily's living room—_but the house was destroyed, I saw the ruins_—one a brown-eyed girl Harry's age, one a blue-eyed boy Harry's size, who seemed rather familiar. _Remus's son?_ Sirius wondered—it had sounded like Remus's voice—_minor problem with that theory, Padfoot. Werewolves can't have kids._

The girl ran over to the boy, who was standing by the front door, and said something; the boy replied in a whisper, then—

—_what the **hell**?_

_And where'd Letha come from?_

"_You!_" Voldemort snarled, turning towards the boy. A green jet of light shot from his wand, aimed dead center at the boy's heart—_dammit, kid, **look**, get out of the way—_

And the boy vanished utterly, just before the light hit, splintering the door.

_Cool trick._

An inarticulate yell from Voldemort. There was six inches of bloody steel sticking out of his chest.

_Good for Harry!_

Voldemort whirled to face Harry, yanking the sword hilt from Harry's grip. Harry's face, too pale already and with too much gray, went dead white.

_He should be **dead**!_

Letha, just getting off the floor, seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She didn't seem to have noticed Sirius at all—_probably a good thing. She's likely to castrate me._

"Had you not realized yet?" Voldemort asked quietly. "_I cannot die_."

_Take his head off his neck, that ought to kill anything._ Suiting action to thought, Sirius lunged for the ruby-studded hilt, yanked the sword from Voldemort's back, and brought it around in a half-circle that put the blade straight through Voldemort's neck—

_Ow._

_I really could've done without the broomless flying lesson...and if getting blown to bits didn't kill him, what made me think beheading would?_

Not that beheading had even worked. The sword had gone through half Voldemort's neck and there was blood spraying everywhere, yeah, but it had refused to penetrate the spinal column. _More's the pity._ He was probably lucky to be alive, he considered; next to Harry, who was presently engaged in an attempt to simultaneously break Voldemort's wrists and relieve him of both his wand and the emerald-studded sword, Sirius probably qualified as a minor annoyance.

_Hey, there's that sword..._ The ruby sword had gone flying the same time Sirius had, in a different direction. _...let's see if I can get it without getting killed—oh shit._

The emerald sword had gone straight through Harry's shoulder.

_Voldemort, you are going to **die**._

_And I don't really care whether you can or not._

Sirius moved at such a speed that he must have seemed a blur, snatching the ruby sword off the floor, throwing Harry to Letha with a quick charm to make sure he'd land soft, attacking Voldemort, aiming for the left wrist because that was apparently his wand hand and a spell at this range wouldn't be easy to dodge. _You are going **down**._

"Sirius!" Letha shouted, her voice a tangle of emotions. Apparently she'd only just seen him.

"Letha!" Sirius shouted back. "Harry's dying!" _I hope he doesn't...oh God I hope he doesn't..._ but there was blood all over him, that was never a good sign...

"_Harry!_" screamed the girl, but she didn't run to him, instead continuing to hammer on the door. "But—I—can't—get—through!"

"What's wrong with the doorknob?" Sirius yelled at her, both annoyed at her for her obvious lack of mental acuity and annoyed at himself for his obvious lack of focus on the important matter at hand. And annoyed that part of him was left over to admire his opponent's sheer stubbornness. Even ignoring the slashed neck and the hole through what passed for his heart, there were enough bruises and blood and broken bones to finish off any lesser man.

_Except maybe Harry._ Harry wasn't as beat up, that was true, but he was a lot more tired, hadn't had as much strength—magically or otherwise—to start with, and certainly didn't have whatever let Voldemort endure mortal wounds, but despite that, with Letha's semi-expert care, he was still clinging to life...

The girl got the door open, and three people tumbled through, a tall boy and a small girl, fiery hair and freckles in stark contrast to their white faces, and Remus, looking a great deal more gray than when Sirius had last seen him. Sirius thought he got a glimpse of bookshelves through the door—_but that's ridiculous, the door goes outside_—before three more people followed on the heels of the first, the brown-haired boy from earlier, someone who must be his mother and the brunette girl's because her hair was just as curly as theirs, and a girl who was Letha in miniature with lighter skin.

Voldemort half-turned, keeping most of his attention on Sirius's rapidly moving sword, to look at the newcomers. The expression on his face was truly priceless.

Two of the girls and the woman rushed over to Harry. Remus, the two boys, and the redhead girl moved to surround Sirius and Voldemort, Remus and the redheads with their wands out and the third boy holding a long knife, all with expressions containing various degrees of shock, horror, and determination, none of them quite willing to approach the flying sword.

"Don't worry, Harry," one of the girls was saying, probably the Letha miniature as it wasn't the same voice as earlier, "it's just a dream, you'll wake up, you'll be all right, it's just a dream..."

Something glinted in Voldemort's red eyes. Sirius was flung backwards—_how did he do that?_—Harry came flying out of Letha's arms to land at Voldemort's feet—there was a canyon, fifteen feet across and more than that deep, circling the ten-foot-diameter pillar on which Voldemort stood and Harry sprawled—_but the room's not that big, and we're all still in it_—

Voldemort reached down and grabbed Harry by the left shoulder, the bleeding one, hauling him upright so that Harry could look him in the eyes. "There is no mother here to save you, Harry," he said quietly. "You die tonight...but..."

The look in his eyes was, to say the least, frightening.

"Who is to know that it is you who has died?"

Voldemort dipped his fingers in Harry's blood, then contemptuously flicked some in Harry's face, spattering Harry's glasses. He tasted the blood, an indescribable expression on his face, though whatever it was, it couldn't bode well.

Harry summoned a last bit of strength and spat in his face.

_Square in the mouth. He's still got that much spirit._

_Unfortunately, that's all he's got; it has to be magic and stubbornness keeping him alive, and he's just about out of both...James, Lily, please forgive me, I tried to protect him, I tried my best...I failed him, I failed you, I'll never forgive myself..._

Voldemort laughed, a high, cold laugh that gave Sirius chills. "Today my triumph," he whispered, and faded from sight.

"God _damn_ it!" someone swore.

Harry collapsed like a marionette with all its strings abruptly cut.

_And that analogy is far too apt,_ Sirius thought, then next moment wondered why.

The redhead girl shrieked and threw herself across the canyon, just barely catching herself on the edge of the pillar and scrambling up to fling herself down at Harry's side. "Harry, you can't die, you can't, I won't let you..."

_Odd,_ Sirius thought, it was the same voice as the brunette girl earlier...no, Remus and the redheads had been just on the far side of the door, it must have been her yelling before...

The brown-haired woman, a tear in her eye, did _something_, Sirius wasn't quite sure what, but it made the canyon disappear. The red-haired boy led the mad rush to Harry.

"You're not allowed to die, do you hear me, Harry?" someone said, one of the boys, Sirius thought, though just at the moment he was more concerned with getting off the floor and over to Harry than with who said what. "I still haven't figured out how to pay you back for scaring Dudley off me. You can't die till I've paid you back."

"Just find a—baseball bat—and crack him—upside the head—that ought to—do nicely." From the tone of voice, Harry had cracked a smile, but the struggling for breath was not good, not good at all.

_He's dying,_ Sirius realized, and for the first time it hit home.

"Harry, _don't you dare die on me!_" the redhead girl yelled, sobbing. "You saved me so I'll save you, I'll die if that'll keep you alive..."

"Don't," Harry whispered. "I'm not worth dying for."

"Don't talk like that, Harry," Sirius ordered, finally on his feet and shoving people aside so he could get to Harry. Little Letha had torn off Harry's shirt and was using it for a pressure bandage, Letha was frantically flicking healing spells, the redhead girl was cradling Harry like a large infant, holding him as if her grip was all that was holding him to life, but none of it would help, everyone could see that. "Don't even _think_ like that."

"But it's true," Harry whispered, and as Sirius reached to touch his cheek, his eyes slid closed, and he vanished, blown away like a handful of sand in the wind.

"_Harry!_" the redhead girl screamed.

"You," a woman's voice—not Letha's—said harshly, as if angry but fighting tears. "Black." Sirius looked up at the brunette. "Send Remus an owl, tell us the truth, and please, _please_ tell us Harry's alive."

_Huh? Remus is right here and Harry's dead...oh God, Harry's dead..._

"Wake up," the woman ordered.

The world blurred and snapped into focus. The windows in the cave showed a starry sky just beginning to glow with dawn.

_Just a dream,_ Sirius realized. _Just a nightmare._

Harry was still lying on top of him—well, kneeling, now standing up—but he was alive.

_Just a nightmare._

_Thank God._

"_Avada Kedavra_," said a voice that both was and was not Harry's.

Sirius rolled to one side, just in time, his mind back in think-fast mode. Harry'd already been turning away when he'd said those words, Sirius had seen that much, so he wouldn't have seen the curse miss. _Maybe if I play dead I'll be all right?_

_Harry. Trying to kill me._

_Out of one nightmare into another._

Footsteps, walking away. Sirius waited ten seconds, then sat up and grabbed for the kitchen knife he'd taken from the Dursleys'. Quietly but quickly, he ran down the entrance passage, reaching the end just in time to see Harry pivot in place and disappear.

Sirius sat down in the entranceway with a thud. His one glimpse of Harry's face played over and over in his memory.

Compared to what he'd just seen, Harry dead might have been preferable.

Ruby lights in emerald eyes...

_Out of one nightmare into another._

_And this time, I don't think I can wake up._

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	8. Delight and Dole

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 8: Delight and Dole

Remus opened his eyes. "Please tell me that was just a horrible nightmare," he said hoarsely. "_Please_."

Danger rolled over in bed to lie half on top of Remus. "I would if I could," she said into his neck. "Poor Harry."

"Poor Alex, you mean, once I get hold of him."

"Seconded."

Remus sighed. "The one I'm really worried about is Sirius."

That startled her. "Black? Why?"

"Well, Harry's beyond worrying now—and of course everyone's going to think it was Sirius who killed Harry—and after seeing how he was defending Harry last night, how he reacted when Harry got stabbed...he really cares about Harry, it's obvious." He sighed again. "Cared. Past tense. I hate past tense."

There wasn't much anyone could say to that, so Danger kept silent.

"I suppose there's a bright side," Remus said finally. "At least now Harry gets to meet James and Lily."

"There's a brighter side," Danger suggested tentatively. "No one I've ever heard of actually died in a dream. In their sleep, maybe, but that was just old people whose hearts weren't strong enough to go on beating, or some such thing. And we don't know that Harry died for real. So maybe Harry's still alive."

"Optimist."

"Pessimist."

"Realist," Remus corrected. And judging by the undertones... "You don't really think he's alive, do you?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. "You see right through me, don't you?" A pause. "I think there's a chance he's alive. Maybe not much of a chance. But a chance. And we have to convince Hermione, and Ron and Ginny, that that chance is a lot more likely than we think it is. Otherwise they'll all three go crazy."

"Let's just hope," Remus said. "Let's just hope."

xXxXx

In one room down the hall, one girl held another, both crying, as the third tried mutely to offer what comfort she could, knowing it was futile. Meghan had never known Harry, after all. All she really knew of him was what her mother had told her of the little boy who would have been her godchild, and that information was twelve years out of date. Hermione, by contrast, had been his friend for two years, and Ginny loved him. Or she thought she did, which came out to the same thing.

Meghan knew she wanted to be a Healer. But Healers dealt with physical things, or magical. What Healer could heal a broken heart?

xXxXx

Normally, if Alex had found himself forced to share a bed with another boy, he would have immediately begun plans to prank both the other boy and whoever had done the forcing within an inch of their lives. That went double if Alex woke up to discover that the other boy had, at some point during the night, pushed Alex onto the floor. In fact, he'd already had something planned for Mum (he'd just been waiting for the right time), and had intended to make subtle inquiries to Ron's sister to find out what would scare the living daylights out of him best.

But then, nothing in this situation was normal.

He'd killed someone last night, as surely as if he'd delivered the death blow himself.

Worse, it was someone he _knew_.

And just to complicate matters, there was what Voldemort had said about who would know that it was _Harry_ who'd died?

_That_ opened up all sorts of scary thoughts.

But the fact remained that Harry was dead, and it was Alex's fault.

He didn't know which of the two worried him more.

Maybe he'd just stay here curled up under the bed forever...

xXxXx

Aletha woke to a severe back cramp and a feeling of disorientation. It was a moment before she remembered. _Sleeping on the couch, right. And it's half-past eight. Lovely._

She'd showered and dressed and was heading back downstairs before she remembered the rest.

_Harry's dead._

_And it's my fault._

_Just like Gideon and Fabian...oh God, Lily, I'm so sorry..._

Something gave her a jolt as she walked into the kitchen, leaving her much cheerier but very confused. She glanced around.

"Cheering Charm," Remus explained from where he was standing over the toaster. "Extra-strength. Harry might not be dead, you realize, and even if he is, officially we have no reason to think he might be. So you have no reason to be in a funk. Just hit yourself with another one every couple hours and you should be fine."

"If you say so," Aletha said dubiously, though she had to admit he was right. Or at least his reasoning was.

"Everybody else gets the same treatment, if it comforts you," Danger said from the stove, where she was frying bacon in one pan and eggs in another. "With the possible exception of my half-witted son. Remus did me and him earlier. I made hot chocolate, you might want to drink it quick—aren't you supposed to be at work by now?"

Aletha glanced at her watch and winced. 8:58. "I'll take that to go, thanks. Keep an eye on Meghan for me?" At Remus's nod, she Summoned two slices of toast and three of bacon, charmed her mug so it wouldn't spill, and ran for the Floo.

xXxXx

There was another piece to this puzzle. Without that piece, nothing made sense; with it, everything would. And Remus, it seemed, had that piece within reach.

The trouble was, he didn't have a clue what it was.

_A Gordian knot,_ he thought, for perhaps the sixth time. _The labyrinth of the Minotaur. The Theban sphinx's riddle._

_And listing other varieties of insoluble puzzles is not helping me solve this one._

Meghan came wandering into the kitchen in her nightgown. "Hermione's in the shower," she informed him and Danger. "Ginny says she's horribly tired and is going back to sleep. I don't think Ron's awake yet, I don't know where Alex is, and who moved the sugar bowl?"

"That was me," Remus admitted, nailing Meghan with a nonverbal Cheering Charm. "Here."

Meghan dumped a half-teaspoon-ish of mint extract and what looked like a quarter cup of sugar into her mug of hot chocolate, added a bit of milk to cool it, and stirred. "Do you think he's all right?" she asked softly.

"Harry?" Remus asked. "I don't know. I hope so."

"We don't actually know if it's possible to die in reality because of dying in a dream," Danger added, meticulously flipping bacon. "No, scratch that—I'm sure it's possible, if Harry was so convinced he was dying that he managed to convince his body that it was dead—"

"But we don't want to think about that," Remus interrupted. "There's a possibility—make that a probability—that he's perfectly all right. Just scared. You have to admit, that was the kind of nightmare that would make anyone afraid to go back to sleep."

"That isn't who I meant," Meghan said, almost inaudibly.

"Then who?" Remus asked.

Whatever Meghan said, Remus didn't hear. "Come again?" he asked politely, lifting his mug.

Barely louder than before, she answered, "My father."

Remus bobbled the mug and had to bite back a curse when the hot liquid slopped onto his hand.

"_Sirius Black?_" Danger demanded.

"Either you're older than you look or I'm going senile," Remus said when he had his composure back and had cleaned the cocoa off the letters he was contemplating. "Because you look about eight."

"I'm eleven," Meghan snapped. "My birthday's the first of June."

Remus counted in his head and realized that the numbers did indeed add up. Then he took a closer look at Meghan. No one who'd seen Aletha Freeman would ever doubt that Meghan was her daughter, but there was nothing in Meghan's face to hint at the identity of her father.

Except that Meghan had gray eyes, and Aletha had brown.

_Sirius has gray eyes._

"I'm sure he's all right," Remus reassured her, rearranging the mental pieces to include this connection. "Severely spooked, no doubt, but I'm sure he's fine."

"I don't think he killed anyone," Meghan added.

"After last night, neither do I."

_Which is part of what makes this puzzle so difficult to solve. Sirius is the only one who could have betrayed James and Lily...and if Sirius didn't kill Peter, then who did? And if no one did, then where has he been for the past twelve years, and why?_

"That smells good, Aunt Danger," Hermione said, walking in with her wet hair pinned on top of her head. "Where would I find plates and forks, Meghan?"

"There and there," Meghan said, pointing, as Remus aimed a Cheering Charm at Hermione.

"Ooh, hot chocolate...I think I'll ask Ginny how she likes hers and bring some up to her, I don't think she's planning on getting out of bed at all today...may I take another mug to dump on Ron's head? Maybe it'll get him up and moving, which he needs to be, there's no way he's finished his summer homework already...Ms. Letha already left for work, right?...and has anyone seen Alex?"

"No, yes, and no," Remus said, standing up. "You go talk to Ginny, I'll roust the boys."

He got Ginny with a Cheering Charm on the way past the door, though he wasn't sure it would have much effect. Ron's immediately followed the hex that woke him up (an invention of James's that gave the target a mild electric shock; perfect for use on those who overslept, as James had discovered multiple times to his chagrin after teaching Remus the spell). Alex, however, was nowhere to be seen.

_But not nowhere to be smelled. Ten years and he still hasn't learned that one. Not that there's really a way to cancel it out._

Remus reached under the bed and dragged Alex out by an ankle. "Alexander William Granger," he said sternly. Judging by Alex's expression, no more need be said. He knew what he'd done, and he knew he'd done wrong, and for once it mattered that he'd done wrong.

_Which might have something to do with why he was hiding under the bed._

Thirty minutes later, Alex, having been informed that he was grounded for the next thirty years and would be doing the lion's share of the household chores for the same length of time, was scrubbing Aletha's kitchen floor. Ron's homework covered half the kitchen table, much to his annoyance. Hermione was sitting next to him, engrossed in one of the Narnia books, but not so involved that she couldn't answer Ron's questions (even if the answer consisted of "It's on page two-thirty-four, go look it up"). Meghan was poring over Ron's potions text. Ginny was presumably either sleeping or trying to, because she hadn't appeared, and Danger and Remus were rereading the letters from Harry, swapping off every so often.

"Do you have any idea what Sirius might be referring to here, Ron?" Danger asked finally, showing him the first letter and tapping one paragraph.

"No, Harry's right," Ron said, frowning. "There isn't anything in that picture but the nine of us, Scabbers, sand, and a pyramid."

Alex stuck his head above the table. "Scabbers is that rat in your pocket?"

"Yeah."

"And didn't Harry say he smelled a rat?" Alex continued. "Seems like he's got rats on the brain."

"Now you mention it..." Remus took another look at the first letter.

"_...certain activities the four of you did, particularly the ones that involved getting you past a certain murderous tree..." full moons...Animagi... "...and compare that to what you see in the recent picture in the Prophet of the lottery winners..." "...nine Weasleys, Ron's rat, and a pyramid..." "...the best of the four of you at getting out of tight corners, and making sure people didn't see what they thought they saw..."_

_Peter was an Animagus. A rat. And he was the best at getting us out of trouble, and making sure we didn't get in it..._

_And there is a rat in Ron's pocket._

"Ron?" Remus asked. "Is your rat perhaps missing a toe?"

"Yeah, off the front right paw, why?"

Remus pulled his wand. "_Accio_ Rat!"

The rat burst out of Ron's shirt pocket and shot over the table straight into Remus's hand. Remus repaired the hole in Ron's shirt with an absent flick, eyes fixed on the squirming, squealing rat in his fist.

"_He also says he'd tell you straight out, but you wouldn't believe him, and if you figure it out on your own, you'll have proof right in front of you..."_

_You weren't kidding, were you, Sirius? I wouldn't have believed Peter was alive unless I could see it for myself..._

_...Harry's right, he obviously survived the blast, cut off a finger to make us think he was dead..._

Remus set the rat on the table, still staring at it, and conjured a cage around it. _But that still leaves the problem of **why didn't Peter come to me?** I never saw him after October...twelfth, I think...a good three weeks before James and Lily died, anyway...the last full moon I had my friends..._

_Come to think of it, I hadn't seen him more often than every couple weeks since before Harry was born. James and Sirius I saw every couple of days, but not Peter...and I was thinking it was just because his job kept him busy; I couldn't get one, of course, or couldn't hold it for long, and James and Sirius had family money and couldn't be bothered, it was just Peter who was actually steadily employed...I only saw him at full moons and Order meetings..._

_But what if there was another reason?_

All noise in the kitchen had ceased, but Remus barely noticed. _The deaths in the Order started right about when I stopped seeing Peter as much. We knew **someone** was spying for Voldemort, we just couldn't be sure who...and I had no idea who it was; I only thought it was Sirius because it was the only explanation, and I didn't even suspect him till James and Lily died..._

_If it was Peter..._

_But Sirius was James and Lily's Secret-Keeper._

_Unless he wasn't._

_Unless they switched._

_Without telling me._

_The only reason no one would have told me is if they thought **I** was the spy..._

He snatched for the first letter and found the paragraph he wanted. _"He would also like to convey his apologies to you and to Beatrice, if she's still alive, for not telling you two something you both ought to have been told, and to you in particular, for believing something of you that he ought to have known better than to believe."_

_He's apologizing for not telling Letha and me they'd switched, and he's apologizing for thinking I was the spy..._

_**Peter** was the spy, **Peter** betrayed James and Lily, **Peter** killed those Muggles and made everyone think Sirius had killed him...which I'm sure is what Sirius intended to do, but obviously if he threw a curse it missed...it was a beautiful plan, making what he wanted us to think happened more plausible than what did happen..._

_And Peter always did like explosions._

Slowly, Remus lowered the letter to the table. "Hello, Peter," he said to the rat in the cage. "Long time, no see."

"Huh?" several people said at once.

Remus flicked a _Petrificus Totalus_ at Peter's head and glanced at Danger. "Your son has just undone the Gordian Knot," he said, grinning. _And Theseus got out of the labyrinth, and Oedipus solved the sphinx's riddle..._ "Peter Pettigrew is alive, he can turn into a rat, and he is right here on this table, and unless I'm much mistaken, everything Sirius was accused of doing, Peter did—except killing Peter, but Wormtail was always good at making sure people wouldn't see what they thought they saw..."

Various mouths were hanging open around the kitchen. Alex stood up to see the rat better and planted his foot in the bucket he'd been scrubbing from without ever noticing.

"But..." Ron protested weakly. "That's my rat. That's Scabbers. He's not..."

"I'm sorry, Ron, but he is."

"But he's been in my family for ages..."

"How long is ages?" Danger asked. "Rats usually only live about three or four years."

"I dunno. Percy's just always had him, as long as I remember." Ron looked from the rat to Remus, a pleading expression on his face. "You're _sure?_"

"I am."

Ron shoved his chair back from the table and left the room abruptly. Hermione looked quickly around, then hugged Remus, scooped Ron's books into her arms, and ran after him.

"He'll get over it," Danger said softly. "Give him some time."

Remus nodded. It might be callous of him, but at the moment he didn't care how Ron Weasley felt. He knew the truth.

_And the truth should be told..._

"Meghan, would you like to come with me to tell your mother?"

"Yes!" Meghan bounced up and towards the music room, which had the Floo connection. "Yes yes yes!"

xXxXx

"So now we have to wait?" Hermione asked, later that day. She wasn't particularly cheerful; the Cheering Charms were wearing off a little fast on Ron and Hermione, even as strong as Remus had made them, but that wasn't terribly surprising as they and Ginny were the ones most affected by Harry's death. Ginny, still in bed, had declined further Cheering Charms; Remus didn't quite follow the reasoning himself, but it seemed to be something along the lines of feeling bad would help her feel better. Aletha had diagnosed BHS, broken heart syndrome, and no one felt the need to argue with her.

"Now we have to wait," Remus confirmed. "Madam Bones is interrogating Peter personally, and she'll inform the _Daily Prophet_ when she's done, so Peter ought to be front-page news tomorrow. We'll get a copy in Diagon Alley as soon as it's out and clip the article to send to Sirius with Hedwig."

xXxXx

_Sirius:_

_Puzzle solved and apologies accepted. Apologies proffered in turn, for having so little faith in you, and for never once asking you why you did what I thought you had done._

_By the way, a Daily Prophet article on the mysterious reappearance of one of the victims of the notorious Sirius Black and on the capture of the Death Eater responsible for the Potters' deaths and the murders of the rest of your supposed victims had better bloody count as that 'sufficient proof' you demanded._

_**I accept your apology as well, and offer one for the same reasons as Remus, and one more reason that I don't believe I'll share just yet. I'd apologize for that, too, but this is something you'll want to learn in person.**_

_**I never could convince my heart that you were a traitor or a murderer, no matter how much my head insisted you were. It would have been easier on me if I could have, because then I'd be able to hate you, but now I know why I couldn't.**_

_We do need to speak face to face, Sirius. You're obviously capable of Apparating both you and Harry—perhaps you and he could meet Aletha and me somewhere? Name your place and time. I don't really expect to get there without an Auror escort, but I'll do my best to convince them it's unnecessary. You know as well as I do that Aletha and I are individually capable of whipping you five rounds out of ten, so both of us together shouldn't have a problem, and neither of us is half as rusty as you must be._

_I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Sirius. I've missed you._

_**What he said. I'm still going to hex you six ways to Sunday, though, for breaking my heart. When you've de-hexed yourself, perhaps we could discuss ways of mending it?**_

_**Aletha**_

_I still remember what you asked me to do for you in mid-October; if you did acquire the object we discussed, would you like me to track it down for you so that you can put it to its intended purpose?_

_(She's clueless, by the way.)_

_Remus_

**_P.S. Not anymore I'm not. I don't know for sure, of course, but I have my suspicions..._**

"You should not have said that, Remus," Aletha said, twirling the quill in one hand and grinning at him across the table. "Should not have said that at all."

"My making that offer saves him the effort of asking that favor of me, and don't be so sure you know what it's about. For starters, who said I meant you?" Remus dodged Aletha's swipe and stood up. "Mind you send that off with the _Prophet_ clipping as soon as the morning paper shows up." He turned to Danger. "Now, in a complete change of subject, I believe you and I have a wedding to attend?"

Hermione perked up. Ron and Alex pulled identical faces of disgust, then caught sight of each other and made identical faces of horror.

"Whose?" Meghan asked, interested.

Remus slid an arm around Danger's waist, grinning. "Ours."

xXxXx

The world was a blur of color and scent and sensation, next to impossible to sort out into any sort of coherent worldview. He'd managed it, finally, but it didn't match up with what his memories told him the world _ought_ to look and feel like.

Of course, _ought to_ had never quite applied to him.

Barely discernible to whatever was serving as his eyes, almost not there at all to whatever he was interpreting as the sense of touch, were a handful of threads of varying colors, tying him to...whatever was at the other end.

_I do so love knowing absolutely nothing._

Two were dark red, he could tell that much, though he had a feeling they were supposed to be a brighter shade. Several were varying shades of yellow-gold, a good half of these tinted orange. One was a light purplish blue, and one a dark green. Most of them led off in the same direction, but a few of the oranges went off at an obtuse angle. None of these four were precisely strong, but the weakest of them was stronger than both reds together.

_I wonder could I follow these to the end..._

Yes, he could, he realized when he tugged on the blue one and found himself soaring in that general direction. This made the threads become more apparent, perhaps because they covered a shorter distance and needn't be stretched so thin.

When he'd gotten far enough that all the threads (except the oranges that were cockeyed to the rest) were more properly cords, even if quite slender ones, it was clear that even the dozen-ish pointing the same way didn't all lead to the same place after all.

_Of course not. Why should it be that simple?_

The reds and two yellows were at a slight angle to the blue and a few yellows, which were themselves at an angle to the green, and an orange-yellow and a bright yellow went off at a different angle yet. There wasn't much difference in the directions, perhaps because there was still plainly so much distance to cover before he reached the endpoint of any of them, but he'd have to choose which cluster to follow.

_The green, I think. It's the strongest except maybe the blue, so it's the least likely to break, and green's my second favorite color. And I don't particularly want to follow the reds._

_I wish I could just snap my fingers and **be** where this cord ends..._

And just like that, he was, trying to de-confuse the new rush of sensation that was familiar and yet familiar no longer. Sights and sounds and thoughts and feelings, all of it with an odd detached feel.

There was a peculiar green slimy feeling all around the cinnamon-red feeling identifiable as himself, and it gave him the creeps...but then a flicker of thought caught his attention, and he snatched at it.

_Ah-ha!_

Curiosity and caution were fully engaged, creeps forgotten. He was off through the information spiderweb that existed at some level deeper than thought, tracking down every single connection to that bit of thought, and most of what was connected at a remove. Careful, always, careful not to destroy anything, only to see what it was; careful, too, to duck out of the way anytime points and paths began glowing green; anything out of the ordinary, such as his presence, and green-slimy would throw a fit, which wouldn't be a good thing.

He didn't _like_ what he was finding, and he couldn't see, right now, how it would do anyone any good...but if he could get this information to someone he trusted, and they believed him and acted on it...

That would be worth just about any price he might have to pay.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	9. Let Belief Take Hold

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow (and, here, half the chapter—thank you very much, Anne), this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 9: Let Belief Take Hold

_Uh-oh. Here he comes—_

—_and there he goes. That was close._

_That was twice he came too close for comfort. I don't think I care to go for three._

_I think I've got everything that might be important,_ he finally decided. The one great advantage of the spiderweb arrangement was that it was next to impossible not to find every detail connected to a particular thought, memory, or idea. He was positive he'd gotten everything attached to a certain set of interlinked thoughts; he'd checked every filament of that section of web. Twice.

_So there's no point in staying around...I don't think I want to know what'll happen if he catches me..._

_Oh no, here he comes again—this end of who-knows-where is popular today, isn't it? _The vivid-green light flashed along the spiderweb paths, turning at every intersection, almost as if circling where he looked—_now might be a good time to get the hell out of Dodge—blue cord, this time, it's second-strongest if it's not strongest_—

He flew along the blue cord, feeling much better now that the slimy green feeling was safely at the far end of the green cord where he couldn't actually feel it—he was _out_, and he was—well, _alive_ didn't seem quite the right word, somehow, but it was the best he could think of—and he'd stolen something _quite_ valuable on the way out, just so he could strike at least one blow personally instead of by proxy.

He slammed into a feeling of soft-warm-rose-red.

The world blurred and went black.

xXxXx

Ginny woke with a start, looking around frantically. For a moment, she'd been _sure_...

...no, it was just wishful thinking. There was no one else in the room but Hermione and Meghan, fast asleep, like Ginny ought to be. She'd been trying to get to sleep all day, being so horribly _tired_, and she must have finally managed it, but now that she was awake she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for hours.

Ms. Letha had told her that part of the problem was depression, quite understandable after seeing someone die. The fact that the dead person was both her brother's best friend and the boy she loved only made it worse.

But the other part of the problem was confounding Ms. Letha, because it _looked_ like Ginny had been using magic like mad and exhausted herself, but of course Ginny hadn't done anything since hexing Draco Malfoy's trunk through the door of his compartment on the train. (The fireworks when he opened it at home ought to be—er, have been—something to see.) It wasn't anywhere near good enough revenge for what Lucius had put her through, and unless she got a miracle this wouldn't get (well, wouldn't have gotten) Lucius in any case, but it had made her feel better.

In any case, that had been a minor spell, six weeks before. For magical exhaustion to hit her so abruptly and completely, she must have been doing something major, six seconds before. Which of course she hadn't been.

Ginny had not told anyone—they'd all think she was crazy—about the dream-within-a-dream she'd had just after Harry—just after it happened. Something precious to her was on the far end of a rope, and the rope was slipping through her fingers, and no one else could help. If she didn't hold tight she'd lose her treasure forever. She'd grabbed on and tried to reel it in, though whatever was on the other end—or whoever had hold of whatever was on the other end—seemed determined that she not keep whatever it was. That was what had tired her out, she was sure, and that was why the tiredness hadn't gone away even a little after having a nap; all her strength went to holding on.

If she was going to be ridiculous—and since she'd woken up _positive_ that Harry was _right there_ next to her, ridiculousness seemed impossible to avoid—there was a distinct cinnamon aroma to the air around her, cinnamon and cloves and ginger, very like the scent she associated with Harry. Ginny herself had the rose scent of the shampoo she'd talked Mum into buying. Meghan, on one side of Ginny, smelled like the ocean, and Hermione on the other side smelled somewhat like nutmeg but mostly like homework.

_Go figure._

And there was a horribly familiar rank odor edging the cinnamon...

_...Tom, no...don't...you can't...I won't let you...I won't let you hurt Harry..._

Hermione mumbled something in her sleep. The sound snapped Ginny out very nicely.

_...okay, Ginny, you're overreacting. Severely. Somebody snitched one of the spice cookies Ms. Danger made this afternoon, that's all the cinnamon smell is. Nothing to do with Harry. And you're imagining the rest. Either that or somebody farted. Now go back to **sleep**. And **no nightmares!**_

And surprisingly, she obeyed.

xXxXx

Someone was crying.

The words were incoherent and mostly indistinct, being sobbed out between bursts of tears, but the gist of it seemed to be something linking the words "Harry" and "dead" in such a way as to make the adjective apply to the noun.

_I feel remarkably not dead,_ he thought. _I don't think I'd go so far as to say I'm alive, but I don't think I'm dead._

The crying cut off abruptly.

"Harry?" said a tiny, trembling voice.

A familiar voice.

"Ginny?" he asked after two or three failed attempts to get his mouth to work right. _Not quite who I was hoping for, but good enough._

_What do you mean, 'good enough'?_ said a voice in his head that sounded rather like an indignant Ginny.

"Harry, are you all right?" Ginny's voice said aloud.

"Mostly." Having finally managed to convince his eyes that yes, he really _would_ prefer them open, he glanced around. There was a great deal of blue with random blotches of white, there was a bright green around the periphery of his vision, and upwards and to the right there was some brown-spotted pale peach topped with vivid red. "Seen my glasses?"

The requested item appeared on his nose. The blurs of color resolved themselves into sky, clouds, grass, and Ginny. "Thanks." He shoved himself upright and took a good look at her. "Why were you crying?"

She flung herself forward. He had only the briefest glimpse of more tears shining in her eyes before she was hugging him the way a drowning person would hug a life raft. He froze—what was he supposed to do _now_?

_Hugging back might be a start,_ said that voice that sounded like Ginny, only it couldn't be, because her head was on his shoulder and he'd be able to feel her mouth moving. Hugging back seemed like good advice nonetheless, so he worked his arms out of her death grip to put them around her and squeeze.

"I thought you were dead," Ginny mumbled into his shoulder. "I thought you were dead."

"Mum and Dad are making themselves conspicuous by their absence," he pointed out. "If I was dead, they'd be the first people I'd see. So I don't think I'm dead yet."

"But that sword went right through you—"

"So did a basilisk fang, if I recall," he reminded her. "That didn't kill me either."

"But this time there wasn't a phoenix there—oh God, Harry, I was so scared—"

A feeling of remembered fear swept over him. Fear of his own death—but when had that ever scared him?

"Don't be," he advised. "I don't die easy." Which brought him round to the important part of the conversation. "Trouble is, neither does Voldemort."

She sucked in a breath, but apparently decided not to waste it 'correcting' him.

He loosened her grip on him, enough to push her far enough back that he could look her in the eyes. "Ginny, you have to listen to me, and you have to remember what I say."

"What? Why?"

He was getting a distinct feeling of confusion, which didn't make sense because he knew exactly what he was talking about—more was the pity; it wasn't at all pleasant—and of curiosity, which made no sense either, for the same reason.

"I need you to get a message to Sirius Black," he said, and her chocolate eyes went round. "He's the only person I know who might be able to pull this off—you might want to take notes, this is kinda important and we can't miss anything—"

A roll of parchment, unrolled about a foot, a pot of ink, and a quill materialized within easy reach of her right hand. She dipped the quill and held it over the parchment, ready to write.

xXxXx

Aletha rolled out of bed—off the couch, whatever—at a quarter till eight. She followed her nose into the kitchen, where she discovered Alexander expertly flipping chocolate chip pancakes. The sight was a bit incongruous, as the boy wasn't much taller than the stove. "Don't let those near my daughter," she ordered, yawning. "If she gets any sugar in her system this early, she's hyper all day."

"She's hyper all day anyway," Alex pointed out. The tone of voice was missing the—she couldn't think of the right word, but its absence was connected with the slumped shoulders and dragging step, and had to do with the total lack of smart remarks there'd been yesterday. According to Danger, if Alex wasn't smarting off at people, either the apocalypse was coming or his personal apocalypse had already come.

"True," Aletha agreed, though 'hyper' wasn't exactly the word she'd use. The word she would use was escaping her at the moment, but words remained unimportant until after caffeine.

Ron had wandered in, presumably attracted by the smell of pancakes, and he, Alex, and Aletha were beginning to eat when there came a tapping at the window. Ron looked over. "That's not the newspaper."

Mad rush to the window.

"It's not Harry's writing," Ron said when he'd got a good look at the parchment scrap tied to the post owl's leg.

"Not Sirius's either," Aletha added, reading over the short note. Then she smacked herself on the forehead. "Of course not, his writing wrist is broken."

_Letha, Remus,_

_I'll meet you by Dervish and Banges in Hogsmeade as soon as you can get there. Just you two, unless Letha doesn't think she can fix this wrist. We'll talk then._

_Sirius_

"_I_," Alex said, reading over Aletha's arm. "_I'll_ meet you. He says _I_."

"Then Harry's—then he really is—"

Ron sounded like he desperately wanted someone to say he was wrong. Aletha felt much the same. She hadn't seen Harry since he was a tiny child on his first birthday, barely managing to stay on his feet while clinging to a chair, but she'd loved him then, and loved him no less now. And it was obvious that Ron and Hermione loved Harry too, in the way friends loved each other. The only thing Aletha could think of that was keeping their collective sanity intact was the thread of hope Remus had pointed out, and that seemed about to break.

"Maybe not," Aletha said, but it didn't sound very convincing, even to herself. "There are all sorts of reasons why Harry might not be able to write...remember, we can't be sure he's dead till we've seen his body..."

"Didn't Mr. Lupin say that enough yesterday?" Ron grumbled.

"It's still true," Aletha pointed out. And speaking of Remus—_"everything Sirius was accused of doing, Peter did..."_—"_Expecto Patronum_!"

_Find Remus,_ she thought at the silver figure of a winged horse, while Ron and Alex gawked. _Bring him here. Important message._

The horse took flight, taking only two heartbeats to vanish from sight.

"What was that?" Alex asked.

"Patronus Charm," Aletha explained. "Used for spooking dementors and lethifolds and for delivering simple messages, most often either something involving charades or something along the lines of 'I need you here now'. Everyone has a different Patronus—mine may not be the only one that takes the form of a flying horse, but it's certainly the only one with scars on its leg that match the scars on mine. The spell takes a lot of power and is difficult enough under ordinary conditions, but it's mostly used for spooking dementors and lethifolds, both of which tend to induce a state of panic, which makes the spell even harder to do."

_Ding-dong!_

"Go get that."

Alex ran off, returning a few moments later with Remus behind. "What's this about a message?"

Aletha pointed at the note on the table. "Sorry to drag you away from your honeymoon."

"I'll make it up to her later."

Aletha smirked. "I'm sure you will."

Half an hour later, all the girls were downstairs, Meghan with instructions to Floo over to the Ministry at nine on the dot to deliver the note to Madam Bones. Ginny had put in a request to go with Remus and Aletha to talk to Sirius, though she wouldn't give a reason, and when it was denied had returned immediately to bed. Remus had gone back to Little Whinging and fetched Danger back to Crozer Street; Danger had immediately set Alex to scrubbing out the powder room, while she herself sat in on Hermione's homework help session with Ron.

"Ready?" Remus asked Aletha.

"No. Let's go anyway."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that."

_Pop. Pop._

And they were standing in front of the Three Broomsticks. The village didn't seem to have changed much since she'd last seen it, Aletha reflected. Which was both surprising and not, as she'd last seen it most of twenty years earlier.

It wasn't far to Dervish and Banges, and it was a pleasant walk, which gave Aletha time to reflect on her internal conflict; she had never quite managed to convince her heart that Sirius was guilty, but her head had been pretty damn sure he was, and had been that way for most of twelve years. She'd only _met_ him eleven years before Lily and James died, and a good large proportion of that time had been spent screaming her lungs off at him.

She was excited, and she was terrified. Part of her wanted to run straight to Sirius and kiss him senseless; part of her wanted to run away screaming.

And as Remus stopped outside the joke shop, all of her was confused. Where _was_ Sirius?

"There," said Remus quietly, pointing. "In the alley."

"Remus, at the risk of being obvious, that's a dog." The skinny black mutt sat patiently in a shadow, probably waiting for its owner. Strange how it seemed to be looking straight at her...

"Yes, but it's also who we're here to see. Trust me on this."

Aletha frowned. "This makes no sense. When was he transfigured? Did Harry do it? And why? A glamour charm isn't perfect, but at least then he'd still be human."

"He was first transfigured when he was fifteen. Harry didn't do it, but James had something to do with it. And why would be because of me." Remus had his eyes on the ground, and his voice was barely audible. "Peter wasn't the only one."

"Peter wasn't...oh."

_It makes sense, I suppose. Animagi would be able to play with a werewolf even in his transformed state. And it certainly fits with the arrogant little shits they all used to be, doing something that most adult wizards never try because it's too much trouble. Worse, they pulled it off without anyone ending up with an Anubis head._

The dog was sitting slightly off-center, Aletha noticed. Favoring its left front paw. As she looked, it shifted its weight unguardedly, landed a little too hard on that paw, and whimpered. Its big gray eyes met hers, soulful beyond even the usual capacities of dogs.

"All right, I'm convinced," she said. "Now how do we pull this off? I don't want him walking on that more than he has to, and I don't know if glamour charms last through transformations."

"They don't."

Aletha let one eyebrow ascend. "You sound so certain. I think I may want to hear this later."

"As long as later is the operative word." Remus peered down the street. "How about this? You slip over there and block him, get him to transform and Disillusion him. I'll Disillusion you from here, and you can do whatever you have to do by touch—can you?"

"If not, I can cancel a spot part of the Disillusionment. What then, oh fearless leader?"

Remus gave her a sideways _look_ but otherwise declined comment on the name. "Once his wrist is healed, then he can retransform and you can cancel the Disillusion on you both. We'll stroll out to the fields and have a nice little chat there."

"All right. On my way." Aletha started across the street, nodding to the few passers-by, and ducked into the alley where the large black dog waited. "Good morning," she said to it, crouching down and putting her hands on her hips, spreading her robes wide. The dog's eyes tracked her wand warily. "Would you mind proving to me that talking to animals isn't pointless?"

Too quickly for her eyes to follow, the dog's form blurred and a skeletally thin man crouched where it had been. His face began to break into a familiar smile just as Aletha's Disillusionment hit.

_Good. Good. Not too much at once. _Aletha breathed deeply, willing her heart to slow—it had raced into Firebolt-quality speeds at the sight of Sirius's face. _He looks awful, worse than I could have imagined. Maybe he should try a beard again..._

She hauled her mind back from its gamboling as her own body turned the color of the alley walls. "Wrist, please," she said briskly.

"Where do I put it?" asked a hoarse voice, with only the vaguest undertone of laughter in it. That scared her worse than his face; Sirius unable to joke was Sirius worse than she had ever seen him.

"Just hold it out. I'll find it." Aletha watched carefully for movement in the air, and found the outline of a hand and wrist. She lifted her own left hand, a little too fast, and jarred Sirius's. He hissed in pain.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized quickly.

"No, it's all right." He sounded like he was chewing his lip. "It didn't hurt much."

Aletha set her teeth against the floods of remembered pain in his voice and raised her hand again, more slowly this time. Soon she cupped a warm (_but thin, so thin_) wrist in her hand, and her wand traced over it. The break was easy to find, easier to mend, even for a half-baked Healer whose training was older than her child. Sirius inhaled sharply.

"Did that hurt?" Aletha asked.

"No. It's...that it _doesn't_ hurt." Sirius's wrist flexed in her grasp as he tested it. "I was just getting used to favoring it."

"Does it feel normal again?"

"Yes."

"No pain?"

"None."

"You think you could use it normally?"

"Yeah." Sirius's voice was starting to hold a trace of suspicion.

_Well-placed, but too late._ "Good." Aletha gave the wrist a sharp tug.

A moment later, she was lying on the ground, sharp edges digging into her in several places they shouldn't. She allotted those one sympathy wince, plus a half-wince for the bruises she'd likely have tomorrow, before turning to more important matters, like the breath currently hot against her cheek. Breath came from one of two places, and she was very interested in one of them...

Sirius must have had the same idea, as he met her halfway.

xXxXx

Across the street, Remus pretended to be examining his fingernails.

_Under normal circumstances, I'd tell them to get a room, but this is about as far from normal as I think is possible to get._

xXxXx

Aletha broke off the kiss regretfully after what she was sure had been a full minute. "Later," she said firmly as Sirius grumbled inarticulately. "Now."

"Make up your mind."

"I wasn't finished. Now, we're going to stroll out of the village and have a little talk. And I suggest you do it at more of a run."

"Er, why?"

"Because a moving target is harder to hit." Aletha disengaged and drew her wand, checked around the corner to make sure that only Remus was in sight, then canceled the Disillusionment on them both, keeping her eyes away from Sirius as it took effect. "You get five seconds' head start. Go."

A black blur dashed past her. Remus jumped, swore loudly enough that Aletha heard him, and fired a hex after the fleeing dog. Aletha caught his eye and waved him off.

"Let him get a bit ahead," she said, crossing the street to join him. "It wouldn't be fair, otherwise. Two on one."

"Point. Congratulations, by the way. Sixty-three seconds."

Aletha grinned. "Thank you." Her jinx flew between them, and a yelp from down the street told her that her aim had been good. "Let's go hex an old friend."

"I could get into that."

xXxXx

Sirius rolled over and whined pitifully as Remus and Aletha jogged up to him in the grassy field. His eyes were red and running, his nose was twice the size it should have been and bright blue, his tail was singed, and his ears were wiggling each to a different beat.

"Creative," said Remus, indicating the ears. "Nice work."

"Thank you, and the same to you with the nose. A good color for him."

Sirius growled.

"Yes, all right, here," said Remus, darting his wand at Sirius and restoring him to normal—_or as normal as he can look while he's still a **dog.**_"Now would you mind telling us what's going on, and where Harry is?"

Sirius changed back to human. Aletha wasn't sure what hurt her more, his painful thinness or the haunted, hopeless look in his eyes. The man she'd loved had prided himself on his reckless courage...

_Yes, and how often did you shout at him for it and tell him to grow up?_

"Harry's gone," Sirius said in a monotone. "Not dead, but we might wish he was. Voldemort took him."

Aletha jumped and shuddered. "Do _not_ do that."

"Live with it or leave," Sirius said, his voice still toneless. "I'm not playing stupid word games because you're too tender to hear a name."

"What do you mean, took him?" Remus interjected. "How can Voldemort have taken anything? Unless he's suddenly reappeared from nowhere..."

"You saw him, Moony. Inside Harry's head. He's still around." Sirius laughed, raspingly, desperately. "And he's still inside Harry's head. Only it's his head now. He took Harry _over_. He's using Harry's body." The laughs sounded unnervingly like sobs. "Just when I found my godson, he went and tried to kill me...green eyes with red lights below, should we stop or should we go..."

Aletha caught Sirius's wildly waving hand and pulled on it as she had in the alley, catapulting him into her arms once more, though now she merely held him. Her mind was spinning. _Snakeface, using Harry's body? Dear God, that means..._

"We can't kill one without the other," Sirius sang off-key into her chest.

Aletha met Remus's eyes and was obliquely comforted to find the same mixture of horror and confusion there that she harbored herself. And, growing by the second, determination.

"That's not true," she said firmly, sliding a hand down to Sirius's face and tilting his head back to look into his eyes. "We won't let it be."

"It's not a question of letting. You didn't see him." Sirius seemed to have sobered a little as he pulled away. "Letha, it's _him_ in that body now. Harry's gone. There is no more Harry Potter. There's just a body that used to belong to him and now belongs to..."

"That's an assumption," Remus cut Sirius off. "And I, for one, am not willing to trust in assumptions at the present time."

Sirius sighed. "Aw, shit. How come you always have to be so logical, Moony?"

"I wish I'd been logical a lot longer ago," Remus said quietly. "But we can't change the past with wishing. What we can change is the future." He paused. "It might be just as well for you to stay undercover at the moment. The Ministry dislikes being wrong. If you can't produce Harry, they're likely to claim that you murdered _him_."

"And they certainly won't believe the truth," Aletha said. "So undercover it is. I don't think you'll have much trouble with a disguise. Do you have a home base of some sort?"

"A cave up in the mountains. It's about a half-hour's walk. Near where we used to have Marauder picnics."

"Can we Apparate there and collect your things, and Harry's?" Remus asked, standing up. "If Voldemort knows where it is, you shouldn't stay."

"He thinks he killed me, but all right." Sirius looked wistful. "Just when I had it all prettied up, too."

"You think you have it bad, I'm sleeping on my own couch," Aletha said. "Which leaves open the question of where you're going to be sleeping."

"Floor," said Sirius nonchalantly. "Hit it with a few Softening Charms and it'll be fine. Better than where I've been even without them."

Aletha nodded absently. Her mind was busily working on the exact number of Softening Charms needed to create a patch of floor big enough for two and the logistics of getting everyone else out of the house for a few hours.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	10. Special Providence

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 10: Special Providence

It was nearly nine-thirty when Danger decided to go roust Ginny. The girl hadn't eaten in much too long.

"Go away," a muffled voice said before Danger had even opened Aletha's door.

"No," Danger said firmly, coming in anyway. Ginny was lying face-down on the bed with a pillow hiding everything from the neck up and both arms holding the pillow down, as expected. "If you don't come eat, your brother and my son will eat all the pancakes."

"I'm not hungry."

_Two for two._ "I know it hurts," Danger said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and laying a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "You wouldn't be human if it didn't."

"You don't _understa_—hic—_and_!"

_Three for three. What a wonderful day this will be._ "I might," Danger said, still quiet. "My father died a few years ago—Alex and Hermione's grandfather. I didn't want to get out of bed for a week. Had to, of course, or Alex would have destroyed the house, but I didn't want to. And I couldn't stop crying for a month."

"That's not the same thing," Ginny said through the pillow.

"Not the same, no," Danger agreed. "But I did love him. Much like you loved Harry, though not in the same way. The effect of losing a loved one is the same, no matter who it is."

"I don't believe you."

"There's nothing I can do about that," Danger replied. "But you do have to come eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm not surprised. But—" This was cheating, and Danger knew it, but maybe it would get Ginny out of the bed. "—would Harry really want you to lie in bed crying for the rest of your life?"

A stifled sound, part gasp, part sob, part snort. Danger would've paid good money to figure out how Ginny had pulled that off. "I think he'd want me to stay in bed till I'm not dizzy anymore."

"If you're dizzy, it's because you haven't eaten for a day and a half," Danger pointed out, "and you got downstairs just fine an hour ago."

"Don't know how."

_Whatever._ "Ginny, please at least come eat breakfast," Danger said. "Otherwise I'll be forced to carry you downstairs and stuff it down your throat. You're no bigger than Alex, so I won't have any trouble. And I'm _positive_ Harry wouldn't want you to waste away to nothing from lack of food."

That didn't get any response at all. Seriously worried now, Danger yanked the pillow away.

Ginny turned her head to face away from Danger, but not before Danger saw the red blotchy face and the eyes shining with tears. "I do know what it's like to lose someone you love," Danger said again. "I know it hurts. But you can't let the pain take over your life. That isn't fair to you, and it isn't fair to Harry."

Ginny was silent.

"Have you ever heard of the Serenity Prayer?" Danger asked after a moment. "God grant me the serenity—"

"—to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference," Ginny recited, half mumbling. "Yes, I know, you told me. It doesn't matter. You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"_Everything!_" Ginny yelled, shoving herself upright and twisting to face Danger. "Harry's _dead_, it's my fault he's dead, I couldn't save him, there was nothing I could do! And I can still hear him—oh God, I can still hear him—"

She collapsed forward onto Danger, sobbing. Danger hugged her, trying to comfort her as best she could.

But something about what Ginny had said wasn't...it didn't sound right, for some reason.

"What do you mean, you can still hear him?" Danger asked cautiously when the sobs sounded as if they were slowing down.

"I _can_," Ginny said forcefully, as if denying anything to the contrary. "I can hear him, in my head. I can feel him. Right now he's sad because I'm sad, but him being sad just makes me more sad—he's saying you're right and I shouldn't be sad, but if he's going to be sad then why shouldn't I be—I know I'm going crazy, don't waste your breath saying it—but I _can_ still hear him, I _can_—but he's _dead_!"

Well, _that_ made a great deal of no sense whatsoever. _She is crazy,_ Danger thought, feeling pity; it was the only thing that made sense, that seeing Harry die had pushed her over the edge.

But—

"I didn't tell you about the Serenity Prayer," Danger said slowly. "Not till just now. But you said I did."

"But you did, ages ago—"

Ginny went dead still. Apparently she'd just realized what that meant.

"But you didn't, did you?" Ginny asked slowly. "You told Harry."

"I did," Danger agreed. "About—oh, five years ago, on one of his school trips to the library. A few of the kids who'd been there before were repeating what their parents liked to say about me. He asked how I could listen to that and still smile at them, so I told him the Serenity Prayer."

"Then you suggested he read this book about lions and wardrobes," Ginny said with a bit of a laugh. "He really liked it, and the other ones. Says he'd rather have crazy Uncle Andrew than crazy Uncle Vernon."

"Knowing Vernon Dursley, I'm not surprised," Danger said dryly. "But there's no way you could know what I said when I told Harry to read the Chronicles of Narnia—unless he told you just now."

"Then—then I'm not crazy," Ginny said finally, looking up at Danger. "I really am hearing him. Even though he's dead."

"That's my impression, yes." It was completely and utterly impossible, of course. But then, so was magic. "If you want proof, I'd recommend asking Hermione and Ron to ask you something Harry would know but you wouldn't. But that can wait till you've _eaten_."

"All right." Ginny let go of Danger and swung herself off the bed. Then landed face-first on the floor. She twisted her head to look at Danger. "Help me downstairs, please? I _am_ still dizzy..."

"Sure." Danger stood and helped Ginny up. She hadn't been lying when she said she'd have no trouble carrying the girl downstairs, but both Ginny and Alex were almost too big for that method of transportation to be feasible. Letting Ginny lean against her worked much better.

"I do need to talk to Sirius," Ginny said on the way out of the room. "Harry told me something to tell him. I'd almost convinced myself it was just a dream..."

xXxXx

Apparating in dog form began with chasing one's tail. And ended, Sirius discovered, with falling on one's face.

_Or maybe that's just because I didn't sleep last night and didn't eat anything this morning._

Aletha put one arm under his chest and hauled, dragging him easily into a sitting position. "Damned dementors," she muttered, apparently under the impression he couldn't hear her.

_Well, lose one, gain one. _Sirius looked over at Remus, who was taking Harry's shrunken trunk out of his pocket. _Gain two._

But people didn't work like that. They weren't points that he could rack up and discard. Harry was gone, and not even getting all his friends back would change that...

"We're back," Aletha called, and leaned down to Sirius again. "Be polite," she said. "These are Harry's friends."

Sirius adjusted his position so he wouldn't strain anything and changed forms. "Grand," he said, hauling himself upwards with the help of Aletha's hand and making for the nearby couch. "Harry's friends. And what did I do to Harry? Well, first I kidnapped him, then I got him killed by Voldemort..."

"You didn't bring Voldemort in," said a firm feminine voice, making him jump. The brunette girl he recalled vaguely from the dream—Hermione, he thought Harry had called her—stood beside him, her hands challengingly on her hips. "My stupid cousin did that. And I've been hoping someone would kidnap him away from his relatives almost since I've known him." She held out her hand. "Hermione Granger."

"Sirius Black." Sirius shook the girl's hand, feeling mingled tension and excitement in the grip. "Stupid cousin?"

"Hs name's Alex. You'll meet him at some point. He's around. This is Ron Weasley." Hermione indicated the tall, red-haired boy who had followed her into the room. "Harry's other best friend."

Sirius found a smile. "I've heard about both of you," he said, accepting Ron's hand. "And seen you, or rather pictures." He wasn't about to tell the boy that a picture of him had prompted Sirius's escape, Harry's kidnapping, and everything that had followed from it.

"And this is Hermione's aunt, and an old friend of mine," said Aletha, indicating the taller, older version of Hermione drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Everyone calls her Danger, but her real name is Gertrude..." She frowned. "What's your other name now?"

"I'll give you a hint," said Remus with a distinctly naughty smile. "Five letters."

Danger snapped the towel at him. "Chauvinist pig. Seven, Letha."

Remus caught it in one hand. "Twelve?"

"Deal."

"Huh?" Sirius said, staring. He'd only ever seen Remus look this happy when his friend knew all the answers on some hellishly hard exam, and he'd certainly never seen Remus do _that_ before. _I wasn't even sure he knew what snogging meant._

"As of last night, she's Gertrude Granger-Lupin," Aletha finished.

"They got married," Ron explained. "I don't quite get it myself. Something about dreams and fifteen years."

"I told you, I'll explain when we have time," Hermione said, then turned back to Sirius. "We have something important to tell you." Her eyes sparkled, as if she were about to announce that it was his birthday. "We don't think Harry's dead."

Aletha gasped. Remus broke off with Danger to stare. Sirius felt the knots in his back and shoulders dissolve in a rush, and he slumped against the back of the couch. He wanted to cry, but he didn't think he had the energy.

"And you didn't bother to tell us, _why?_" Aletha almost shouted.

Hermione spread her hands. "You've been back three minutes. When did I have time?"

"But if he's not dead, then where is he?" Remus demanded, releasing Danger. "He's not in with Voldemort, is he?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "He's not with Voldemort."

"But I'm damned if I know how he got where he is," Ron muttered.

"Where _is_ where he is?" Sirius asked, turning his head to hold the tall boy's eyes.

Ron flinched. Sirius wasn't surprised.

"Ginny," Ron called over his shoulder, turning away from Sirius's gaze.

The little girl who had been standing with Ron in the newspaper photo stepped hesitantly through the door. She was rather pretty, Sirius though, watching her come. Long soft red hair, sweet face just starting to lose its baby fat, big brown eyes...

He stopped and blinked. Was he imagining things? Finally going mad, Harry's death, or not-death, accomplishing what the dementors hadn't?

The brown eyes lifted and fixed full on him, and Sirius knew he couldn't be imagining it. Deep within the brown, in the darker star around the pupil, lurked just a hint of the bright sharp green he'd almost been used to seeing in what was otherwise James Potter's face.

"Hello, Mr. Black," Ginny Weasley said. "I have a message for you."

xXxXx

_(This is weird,)_ Alex commented, for the eighth time in five minutes.

_(You think?)_ replied the voice in his head.

_(Shut up.)_

_(No, you want me here, remember?)_

_(I don't recall volunteering to get a makeover and an ugly scar on my forehead. I kinda prefer looking like me to looking like you. Nor am I happy with the idea of hearing things.)_

_(Be glad you are hearing things. Not hearing things means there's something wrong with your ears.)_

_(Y'know, I'm supposed to be the king of sarcasm around here.)_

_(Shut up.)_

_(No, you want me here, remember?)_

_(No, actually, I'd prefer Ron or Ginny. Or Hermione, though she'd nag me to death. You just got drafted because you're no bigger than I am and that simplifies the transfiguration. Which is about the only reason, actually, since I have to go through Hermione to link to you.)_

_(Ginny's my size.)_

_(Ginny's lacking a key requirement for Boy Scouts, you know?)_

_(And you're lacking a key requirement for sanity.)_

_(So are you.)_

_(So I'm told)_

_(This is **weird**.)_

_(You've said that.)_

"Harry?"

_(Alex, that's you.)_

_(Oh.)_ Alex stopped walking.

Aletha opened the door and waved Sirius through, followed by Remus, who had his wand aimed at Sirius's back. Alex ducked under Aletha's arm into the office, then plopped down in the nearest empty chair.

Aletha closed the door behind herself, flicked some spell at it that made it seal shut with a squelch, circled what looked like a secretary's desk, and knocked on the other door, then pushed it open without waiting for a reply. "Guess who we found?"

"Black and Potter, I presume," said a booming voice. A moment later, a woman with short gray hair and a monocle appeared at the door, which Alex now saw led into another office. She glanced over the four, eyes lingering for a moment on Alex's forehead.

_(Why's she staring at me?)_

_(You've a great ugly scar on your forehead, remember?)_

_(Oh yeah...)_

"Where's Meghan?" Aletha asked.

"She decided that if she was going to sit around waiting for you, she would rather wait at home," the monocled woman said. "She left a few minutes ago—you must have just missed her."

"Who's Meghan?" Sirius asked.

"My daughter," Aletha replied.

"_What_ did you say?"

"There is nothing wrong with your ears, Sirius Black," Aletha snapped. "Except possibly that there's nothing between them but bone."

_(Ooh, she's good,)_ Harry noted. Alex didn't respond, being too busy stifling his laughter.

"Well, Mr. Potter, your family will be quite relieved to know you're safe and well," the monocled woman said, cutting off Sirius's reply.

_(What family?)_ said Harry's mental voice.

_(Them you live with, maybe?)_

_(Relatives. Not family. Subtle difference. As you should know, seeing how Mr. Lupin is part of your family and your birth father is not.)_

_(Watch it, Potter. No hitting below the belt.)_

_(It's true, though.)_

_(Shut up.)_

"Mr. Black, if you'd kindly step into my office...Mrs. Dursley, out here, if you would..."

The woman stepped aside to allow the all-too-familiar figures of Petunia and Dudley Dursley to exit the inner office. Inspired by the snarling in the back of his mind, Alex turned to Sirius and said, perfectly calmly, "Now would be a really good time to kidnap me again."

An expression composed of a most interesting combination of emotions appeared on Mrs. Dursley's face. Dudley, occupied by something in his hand that appeared to involve much pressing of buttons, might not even have heard 'Harry's' words.

"With the Head of Magical Law Enforcement watching?" Sirius pointed out. "Not that dumb, kid."

"Pity," Alex said with a sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to run away, then."

"You ungrateful little brat!" Mrs. Dursley snarled. "Twelve years we feed and house you and give you the best care we can afford, and _this_ is how you repay us? Plotting to escape at the first opportunity?"

_(Knew I should've just gone home with Ron's family,)_ Harry said disgustedly. _(At least they act like they want me around.)_

Alex repeated that word for word.

Mrs. Dursley took a breath to compose herself, then, in a tone of voice that Alex could tell was far _too_ sweet, said, "But of course we want you around, Harry dear—"

"Really," said Sirius in a dangerously calm voice. "Then why, pray tell, are his school uniforms the only clothes he has that are fit to wear? Why, might I ask, is there almost nothing in his room that your son didn't break before giving it to him? Why is it that he was cleaning the kitchen while your family was eating dinner, when he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast?"

"Did I mention that my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to Mr. H. Potter, the Cupboard Under the Stairs?" Alex added helpfully, at Harry's prompting.

"_What?_" demanded Sirius, Aletha, and Remus in unison.

"Phenomenal cosmic power, itty-bitty living space," Alex said with a shrug and half-smile. "They switched me to the spare room upstairs after that," he added, again quoting Harry. "'Course then I got a letter the next day addressed to Mr. H. Potter in the Smallest Bedroom. I feel sorry for McGonagall, she had to write about a thousand of those letters before I got to read one—and that one was hand-delivered by the school's resident giant."

"I knew Lily had reason not to want her sister taking care of her son," Aletha said, with a tension to the tone that suggested barely controlled anger, "but I didn't know just how much reason—wait a minute!" She glanced over at the monocled woman. "Surely Lily and James left a will. I believe I am going to go raid the Ministry files. With your permission, Madam Bones?"

"I know of no reason why they wouldn't have," the monocled woman—evidently Madam Bones—allowed, "and I see no reason why you shouldn't see whether they did."

"Thank you," Aletha said, and walked out.

"Let me get this straight," Sirius said, and Mrs. Dursley flinched from the look in his eyes. "You say you fed, housed, and cared for Harry as best you could afford. But he was living in a cupboard, when you had a perfectly good room upstairs that it would have cost you nothing to give him. From the size of him, he barely gets enough to eat to keep a bird alive, when your son obviously eats enough to feed an army."

Mrs. Dursley bristled at this, but Sirius wasn't finished. "Clearly you never bought him clothes that would neither fall off nor fall apart, nor did you ever buy him any toys or books of his own, when, judging by the contents of Harry's room, you spend a fortune on toys for that blob of a son of yours. If what I saw a few days ago is anything to go by, he does eight times as much housework as you do yourself—and I've a suspicion that your son doesn't do any chores at all. And when your—sister-in-law, was it?—aims to knock his head off his shoulders, you _don't do anything_."

"And if I'm being told true," Remus added, "when Sirius broke into your home, Harry acted to save all your lives. I notice you have yet to say a word of thanks."

"I can't blame him for wanting away from you," Sirius finished. "I can't blame him in the slightest."

The hallway door burst open. Aletha came in, waving a parchment scroll. "Exactly where I thought it would be. I can't believe I didn't think of this before." She tossed it to Madam Bones. "Would you please verify that that is what it looks like it is?"

Madam Bones unrolled the scroll and read down a short ways, frowning, then drew her wand and waved it over the scroll. "It certainly appears to be."

Aletha took the scroll back and cleared her throat before beginning to read. "The last will and testament of James Potter, dated September 12, 1981." She ran her finger down the edge of the scroll, unrolling further till she found the section she wanted. "Here. Regarding custody of Harry. There's six names listed—Sirius Black—unfortunately, he's still officially in Azkaban—unless something changed in the last five minutes?" Sirius shook his head. "Thought not. Frank and Alice Longbottom—also ineligible, more's the pity—"

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"No, you wouldn't have heard, would you—that fruitcake of a cousin of yours and a couple friends of hers Crucio'd them into the St. Mungo's Long-Term Care ward. Their son's with Frank's mother, but she's not on this list."

"Oh, is that why Trixie landed in Azkaban. I'd wondered. Remind me to strangle her."

"Anyway," Aletha continued, "next choice is Peter Pettigrew—little rat-bastard, scratch _him_ off—then Remus Lupin, but there's a caveat, and while _I_ don't think it's a problem, I won't bother trying to convince _Remus_ that it's not a problem." She gave the scroll to Remus, pointing out the section for him to see.

"Smart move," Remus said, handing it back. "Hades will be hosting the Winter Olympics before _that_ condition's filled."

"Though it occurs to me that with Danger and Alex around, and you talking to me again..."

"Utterly beside the point," Remus said with a sigh. "I'm not the best choice on that list, and you know it. Thank you anyway."

"Then right below Remus—I'll quote this, it's funny. 'Do not, under any circumstances, entrust Harry to Vernon or Petunia Dursley, or anyone else whose name begins with a D. I don't want my son to be raised by someone whom I do not trust, or who does not trust me.'" Aletha glanced at Mrs. Dursley. "Guess that eliminates you. But the important name is number two on the list. Aletha Freeman. Who, the last time I checked, is me." She rolled up the scroll and handed it to Madam Bones. "If no one has any sustainable objection, I'd like to sue for custody of Harry Potter."

_(**I** don't see anything to object to,)_ Harry said. Alex repeated it verbatim.

"Nor I," Sirius said.

"You _can't_ take him from me!" shrieked Mrs. Dursley.

"Why not?" Alex asked. She only sputtered.

"I think that can wait a minute," Sirius said pointedly. "I'd like to be officially not on the run. And since I'm reasonably confident my interrogators won't believe a word I say, whether I'm drugged to the gills with truth potion or not, I've got a better idea. Letha, Remus, either of you know how to Bond an Unbreakable Vow?"

"It's not difficult, no," Remus said. "Stupid and suicidal on the vow-taker's part, but not difficult. Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Aletha asked. "He swears to me that he'll truthfully answer any question I ask him, you Bond the vow, I ask him anything I can think of that has to do with why he landed in Azkaban, Madam Bones decides whether to ship him back to Azkaban or not, and we all go home happy."

"That's about the gist of it, yes," Sirius agreed.

"What's an Unbreakable Vow?" Alex asked, feeling Harry's curiosity along with his own.

"If Sirius swears one that he'll answer anything Aletha asks without lying," Remus said, "and he doesn't lie to her, I release him from the Vow and he's fine. If he does lie, his own magic will kill him."

"Pretty good incentive to tell the truth," Alex said, a bit shakily. He'd known magic could be used to kill, of course (how many times had he been told he was lucky he was dreaming, because his latest dumb stunt could've killed someone?), but this was just creepy.

"Give me your hand," Aletha ordered Sirius, extending her own. Remus laid the tip of his wand on the joined hands. "Will you, Sirius, swear to answer any question I ask with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

_(So help you God,)_ Alex finished. Harry snickered. Apparently he'd seen a couple of courtroom dramas himself.

"I will," Sirius answered.

A vivid red flame snaked out of Remus's wand and around the two hands. Remus glanced at Aletha, who flicked a glance at the wand, then at Remus, but didn't say anything. Remus removed the wand. The rope of flame sank into the two hands and out of sight.

"That felt peculiar," Aletha commented. "All right, then. What's your full name?"

"Sirius Orion Black," Sirius answered steadily.

_(S. O. B.,)_ Harry pointed out, laughing. _(Son of a—)_

Alex sent a mental thwack in his direction. He'd heard that particular epithet applied to himself far too often to count.

_(Ouch.)_

"What exactly happened on November first, 1981?"

The questions and answers went on for a good half hour. One Sirius didn't answer aloud, instead dropping to the floor and standing up as a giant black dog. He looked at Madam Bones, whined mournfully, and changed back. Her expression barely changed, and all she said was "Carry on."

The various letters were produced and examined. "Why did you write this one yourself, Sirius?" Aletha asked at Madam Bones's direction, holding up the letter which had brought her to Hogsmeade with Remus that morning.

_(Hope he remembers what we came up with,) _Harry commented.

"Harry injured himself accidentally while we were living together in the cave," Sirius said. "I did nothing to harm him, other than setting up a spell without telling him about it. I did a patch job on him, but I'm not much as a Healer. And I'm better than he is at writing with my off hand, since I had one or two tutors when I was a boy who tried to break me of being left-handed."

Alex whistled silently, impressed. Every word of what Sirius had said was true—and none of it had any real bearing on the situation. Madam Bones didn't seem to pick up on this, merely nodding and waving at Aletha to go on.

"I think that's all we need to know, isn't it, Madam Bones?" Aletha said finally.

"I believe so," Madam Bones said, setting down the quill she'd been using to take notes. "I'll call a meeting of the Wizengamot as soon as it can be arranged—perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow—to make it official, but in the meantime, Mr. Black, you're free to go, pending trial. Do please stop to add yourself to the Animagus Registry on the way out."

"_Thank_ you," Sirius said gratefully.

Remus moved to place his wand on Sirius and Aletha's still-joined hands, but Aletha held up her other hand to stop him. "One more question before I let Remus release you," she said. "Sirius Black, will you marry me?"

Dead silence.

Inside Alex's head, Harry burst out laughing. Alex fought the temptation to do the same, but after a moment gave up the struggle.

"_What_ did you say?" Sirius managed finally.

"As I have already told you, the only thing wrong with your ears is that there is nothing but bone between them," Aletha said, sounding exasperated. "It's a simple question. Will you, or will you not, marry me?"

Sirius kept on gawking. Remus lost his own battle with laughter. "Just say yes, Padfoot," he advised between spasms.

Sirius looked at Remus. "It's not that simple."

"And whose finger was I supposed to measure around and not tell her why?" Remus countered.

"Oh, is that what that was about?" Aletha asked, before the import hit her and her eyes widened to almost superhuman proportions. "You mean—"

"I was going to ask you in November sometime," Sirius admitted, backing up a few steps. "I'd half-planned a Christmas wedding...but..."

"But?" Aletha said delicately when Sirius didn't continue. "Is there some reason _not_ to have a Christmas wedding, perchance?"

"Your daughter," Sirius mumbled.

"My daughter. I see." Aletha looked quite amused by something, and Remus was chortling behind his hand. "Are you perhaps concerned that she might object?"

Sirius nodded sheepishly. "I mean, it's not that _I_ mind," he added hastily. "But it's her life too. And...well, I don't know..." His face started to color. "I mean, you didn't tell me...maybe because I haven't asked..."

"Maybe because until we got here, you didn't know about her?" Alex suggested.

Sirius glowered at him. "What I'm trying to say is..." He was redder than ever. "I don't know anything about kids. Except I like them. And usually, they like me, or they used to. I don't think they will when I look like this. But it won't last. But..." He stopped. "I just confused myself."

"Not a particularly hard job," Remus commented.

"Shut up, Moony."

Alex frowned. Harry was being awfully quiet. _(You still there?) _he probed.

_(Huh? Yeah, I'm here. Just arranging something.) _Harry sounded smug.

_Uh-oh._

_(I heard that.)_

"Sirius, whatever you want to say, just say it," Aletha ordered.

"Effing Vow," Sirius muttered. "Letha, I don't know how old your daughter is, or who her father was, or anything about her. I don't even know how it happened, if you're still with him—you're not acting like it, I don't think you'd tease me like that, but I don't know. And I'm not taking anything I'm not entitled to. She's yours, she's not mine..."

Remus lost control of his laughter again. Sirius glared at him. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Someone pounded on the office door. "Mum!" a voice shouted from outside.

"Your answer awaits," Aletha said, smirking as she waved her wand to open the door.

Meghan dashed into the room like a miniature hurricane. "Mum, I stopped at Diagon Alley to buy those fairy wings you wanted and I got distracted and stayed too long and when I got home they said you'd been and gone and you had him with you and—"

Aletha pointed.

Meghan whirled and froze. "Oh," she said, staring at Sirius, who was staring back at her. "Um, hi."

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	11. Mad as the Sea and Wind

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 11: Mad as the Sea and Wind

"Number seventy-three, Crozer Street!" Meghan shouted, flinging a pinch of Floo powder into the Leaky Cauldron fireplace. She kept one hand protectively on the package of fairy wings Mama had mentioned wanting as she whirled through the green flames. With a bit of luck, Mama would be back...how long could it possibly take to fix one broken bone (okay, maybe eight broken bones, but still) and collect one three-quarters-starved adult and one skinny teenager?

Meghan managed to turn her stumble out of the fireplace into a reasonably graceful somersault. "Mama?" she called.

"She left five minutes ago," said Ms. Danger's voice from the kitchen, where Meghan promptly headed. "Took Sirius and Remus to the Ministry. Alex is with them, pretending to be Harry—apparently Harry is alive and well, he's just disconnected from his body at the moment—he spent a while snooping in Voldemort's head, then moved to Ginny's, and now he's riding sidecar with Alex in case they run into anyone who knows him."

"Run that by me again?" Meghan asked, swiping an apple from the basket on the counter.

"I'll explain," Ginny said from the kitchen table, where what was presumably her summer homework occupied one half of the table. Her brother's homework covered the other half.

"Be forewarned, this will take a while," Hermione added from where she stood leaning over Ron's shoulder.

Explanations finally finished, Meghan claimed the fourth kitchen chair so she could study Ginny's Charms work and figure out just how much she was expected to learn over the next year. Some of it Meghan was sure she already knew—how to illuminate a room with her wand and make the light turn pretty colors, how to boil water to make tea or pasta or brew potions (the less finicky ones, at least; using magic to help along the trickier potions as often as not meant you ended up with a cauldron full of useless brown goop), how to mend a skinned knee or a torn piece of parchment, for example.

It wouldn't have been possible, except that one of her eleventh birthday presents had been a trip to Diagon Alley so she could get, among other things essential for a girl's first year at Hogwarts, one wand, eight and a half inches of ebony and unicorn hair. Alternate evenings from then till now were declared 'Hogwarts in London' evenings, when Aletha taught Meghan the basics of magic. This was not strictly legal since Meghan had accepted her Hogwarts invitation, but neither Meghan nor Aletha cared.

Suddenly, Ginny sat bolt upright for a minute, then relaxed. Meghan gave her a sharp glance. They hadn't been kidding her; Ginny's brown eyes _were_ swirling green.

"Meghan, your presence is requested in Madam Bones's office," Ginny said, looking at the smaller girl.

"Why?" Meghan asked.

"Harry says you need to be there."

Meghan bounced up and darted for the back room. "I'm going to the Ministry," she told Danger, who nodded without looking up from her book.

Spin through green flames. Check. Fall out of fireplace. Check. Knock head against floor. Check. Admire pretty design on ceiling. Check. Bounce up and run headlong for the stairs. Check.

Someone was laughing inside Madam Bones's office, Meghan heard as she approached. Was that good or bad? She skidded to a halt and banged on the door, shouting, "Mum!"

The door clicked open. "Your answer awaits," said Aletha's voice.

_Huh?_

Inside. Lots of people. "Mum, I stopped at Diagon Alley to buy those fairy wings you wanted and I got distracted and stayed too long and when I got home they said you'd been and gone and you had him with you and—"

Aletha pointed. Meghan turned.

_That's him—that's my father—_

"Oh," Meghan said intelligently. "Um. Hi."

An awkward pause. Not silence, because Mr. Lupin was still laughing, try as he might to stop.

"Obviously everyone has forgotten their manners," said an unfamiliar boy's voice. "You're Meghan Freeman, I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet you. This is Sirius Black, who is probably pleased to meet you. The blonde lady is my aunt Petunia Dursley and the butterball is my cousin Dudley, and they're probably not pleased to meet you."

Meghan glanced at him. From Ginny's explanation, this was Alex masquerading as Harry, but Mr. Lupin must have done a very good job on the transfiguration if Mrs. Dursley hadn't noticed. 'Harry' looked almost exactly like Mama's pictures of James Potter around Harry's age, except the green eyes and scar. "Pleasure's mine," Meghan said, dipping a little curtsey in the general direction of everyone Harry—Alex—whoever—had just introduced.

_Think of him as Harry. It's easier._

Mrs. Dursley gave her a disgusted look, then gave Harry a look that was both disgusted and angry. Meghan held back a grin. If a _tenth_ of what she'd been told about this woman was true, then annoying her was a high compliment to the one doing the annoying.

"So you're Meghan," said a hoarse voice. Meghan looked up and met the owner's slate gray eyes—the only part of him that looked properly alive.

"Yeah. I'm Meghan."

Silence, except for the snickers imperfectly muffled by Meghan's mother's hand over Mr. Lupin's mouth.

"How old are you?" Meghan's father finally asked.

"Eleven," Meghan answered, thinking that calling him 'my father' wasn't going to work anymore. Mr. Black...no, too formal. "I'm going to Hogwarts in three weeks."

He frowned, counting on his fingers. A look of pain flashed through his eyes.

Meghan cast frantically about for something to say. Anything that would divert his attention from whatever the painful thought was. "Mama told me I've got your eyes," was the first thing that came to mind.

He jerked, pinning Meghan with a sharp glance—had he not noticed?—then turned to lock eyes with Meghan's mother.

"Yes, you idiot man," Mama said, sounding highly exasperated. "Sirius, meet your daughter."

He looked back at Meghan, a look on his face that said he didn't quite dare to believe.

"Hi, Dad," Meghan said nervously.

Later, no one would ever be able to say who'd moved first, Meghan or Sirius; all anyone knew was one moment they were standing and staring at each other, the next Sirius was kneeling on the floor, holding Meghan like he never wanted to let her go, and Aletha was hugging them both, and somehow Harry ended up in the middle though no one had any idea how, and Mr. Lupin was grinning and Petunia was frowning and Madam Bones was pointedly impassive and Dudley was completely oblivious.

"Aletha?" Meghan heard Dad say quietly. "The answer's yes."

"I knew it would be," Mama said in a low purring tone Meghan had _never_ heard before.

Mr. Lupin cleared his throat. "You two lovebirds can bill and coo to your heart's content—_later_."

Mama and Dad both blushed. Meghan glanced at Harry, and they both started laughing.

"Meghan, would you run this down to the records room for me?" Madam Bones asked, looking up from her paperwork.

"Sure," Meghan said, wiggling out of the human knot. "Should I go home when I'm done with this, or do you have more errands you want me to run?"

"Ask your mother," Madam Bones said, handing Meghan the parchment slip.

"Home," Mama decided. "Ask Ms. Danger to make food in quantity, then bring it back here. Something tells me you've yet to eat today," she added with a pointed glance at Dad. "Even now, you're more brawn than brain."

Meghan bit back a laugh—Dad wasn't much more than skeleton and skin—and ran out of the room.

xXxXx

The cutthroat game of Go Fish in Aletha's back room came to an abrupt halt when a pale black-robed figure fell out of the fireplace, became a dog, did four laps of the room while barking his head off, and skidded through the middle of the circle, scattering everyone's sets, to transform and catch Meghan as she tumbled out of the Floo. Holding his daughter by the waist, Sirius started twirling her around the room, in what would be a formal if rather fast waltz if her feet were anywhere near the floor.

"Free and clear—free as a bird, clear as the sky, free as a butterfly, clear as a bell—'Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty I'm free at last—'"

"If you hadn't gathered," Remus said after exiting the fireplace with a great deal more grace than the other three had shown (Alex hadn't fallen over anything, but he was black with soot from head to toe), "they let him off."

"I don't know if that's good or bad," Hermione muttered, reaching to gather the cards.

_(I'm tempted to say 'Me neither',)_ said a voice in her head.

Hermione shrieked and dropped the cards.

_(Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,)_ Harry said contritely. _(But yeah, he's crazy. Mostly in a good way.)_

"Best not let him hear that," Hermione said as quietly as she could manage, going back to gathering cards.

_(I'll hear you perfectly fine if you think at me.)_

_(Like this?)_ Hermione sent tentatively.

_(Perfect, just a touch quiet.)_

"Aletha will be catching up," Remus continued. "She stayed to argue over Harry's custody suit and rescue Sirius's wand from the Museum of Magical Curiosities. And in the meantime, _you_ are still grounded, young man," he informed Alex. "You get to make dinner."

"Can I have my face back first?" Alex asked with Harry's voice.

Remus sighed and pulled his wand, flicking it once to disappear the soot and again to shift Alex's face back to being Alex's. "Go figure out what you can do with what Aletha's got in the house."

"Chicken?" Sirius asked hoarsely, lying on the floor with Meghan sprawled on top of him.

"If she's got chicken, make chicken," Remus called after Alex, who'd already vanished.

_(I can cook too, you know,)_ Harry commented, a touch acerbically. _(I've **been** cooking since I was tall enough to see over the stove.)_

Hermione considered the Harry she remembered getting off the train six weeks before. _(How old were you? Eleven?)_

_(I was standing on a chair. Four.)_

"Hermione?" Ron asked.

Hermione abruptly realized that her gritted teeth and clenched fists were tight enough to be painful. She forced herself to relax a bit. "Harry's aunt," she snarled. "_Damn_ that woman—she must have been hoping he'd manage to kill himself, that's the only explanation I can think of for why she'd put a _four_-year-old next to a lit stove. A _gas_ stove, mind," she added after a quick question to Harry. "Open flame."

"I am severely tempted," Sirius commented. "_Severely_ tempted."

"Don't," Remus advised. "You've only just managed to clear yourself of the last set of murder charges, and the illegal-Animagus bit is going to stay on your record for the rest of eternity, so another accusation of murder is the last thing you need. Especially if this one happens to be true."

Sirius pulled a pouty face. "You spoil all my fun."

Alex poked his head back in the room. "We don't have chicken."

"I'm sure there's chicken," Aunt Danger said lazily, closing her book and standing. "You're just not looking hard enough. Now, whether there is _enough_ chicken is something else entirely."

"Yeah, given the way Ron eats—you'd think he hadn't had a decent meal in a decade—"

Remus cleared his throat, indicating Sirius by eye-contact only. Alex stopped.

"Who's tripping over his tongue now?" Ron asked smugly.

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk," Alex shot back, "you can't go more than four sentences without stepping on yours. I can see the footprints every time you open your mouth."

"Put a sock in it, both of you," Danger ordered. "You'll never get your feet out of your mouth otherwise."

Ginny swiped the cards from Hermione's hand. "Anyone want to play Egyptian Ratscrew?" she asked, cutting off Alex's protest. "Bill taught us last week, it's really fun. Hasn't got anything to do with rats, screws, or Egypt, though."

"Sure, why not?" Alex asked, plopping down next to the girls.

Ron gave Alex a speculative look, then grinned. "I'm in."

"Of course you are," Ginny said airily. "Anyone else? We can have as many players as can get their hands onto the card pile in the middle..."

"Might as well," Remus decided, taking a seat.

"Alex, you are not getting out of making dinner," Danger warned, heading for the kitchen.

"Never thought I was."

"I'll play," Sirius decided, rolling to a sitting position and rearranging Meghan so she sat on his lap.

Ginny dealt seven hands. "First rule, you're not allowed to look at the cards," she warned. "Not till you play them." She demonstrated, sliding a card off the top of her face-down partial deck, flipping it face-up just before dropping it in the middle of the circle, repeating with another card, then slipping both back into the deck and returning to the deal. "You're trying to get the whole deck."

_(Ron should love it,)_ Harry commented.

"Two ways to get cards," Ginny continued. "One is, if Hermione plays a jack, queen, king, or ace, then Alex gets to play a certain number of cards—jack one, queen two, king three, ace four—and if none of those is a face card, Hermione gets the pile. If Alex does play a face card, then I look at which one it is and play that many cards, and if none of mine are face cards, Alex gets the pile. And so on around; whoever plays the last face card gets the pile."

"What's the other way?" asked Alex.

"I'm _getting_ to that." Ginny glared at him for a moment before returning to her teaching tone. "Other way is, if the first two cards are both twos or both fours or whatever, that's a pair. If the top card and bottom card are both twos or fours or whatever, that's a top-to-bottom. If the first three are three-nine-three or eight-five-eight or whatever, that's a sandwich. If you see a pair or top-to-bottom or sandwich, slap the pile. If you see a joker, slap the pile. Whoever's hand hits the cards first gets the pile."

"That sounds painful," Hermione said.

"No pain, no gain," said Ginny airily. "Oh, and if you slap when it's not slappable, that's a misslap and everyone who slapped puts a card on the bottom. And if Meghan plays a two and Hermione plays a two and Alex plays a seven before anyone slaps the pair of twos, that's a misslap. Whoever got the last pile plays the first card. Don't worry about running out of cards, you're allowed to slap back in. Everybody got it?"

General agreement, and the game began. Hermione had a suspicion about Ron's real reason for wanting to play, since he'd obviously known the rules already, and he never managed to slap something that Alex didn't slap first.

_(Yes, Ron is trying to break Alex's hand,)_ Harry said, and it was only with effort that Hermione didn't jump. _(If Alex was annoying me as much as he's annoying Ron, I'd want to break his hand too.)_

_(You haven't seen half enough of Alex, then,)_ Hermione retorted.

_(Oh, I've seen plenty.)_ A pause, in which Hermione lost four cards to Meghan's ace. _(Slap it—too late, she took it.)_

Hermione sent a questioning feeling at Harry.

_(That last one was a five. So was the bottom card.)_

_(Well, if you're so good at this, why don't you play for me?)_

_(Wish I could. This is a Seekers' game, if you think about it, you need a quick eye and a quick hand...I wonder...)_

_(You wonder what?)_

_(If I can move your arm like it was mine. I'll try, next time it's—now!)_

Hermione watched her hand shoot forward and land on the nine of Remus's that had just landed on the nine of Ron's.

_(So I can. Good.)_

_(That was **bizarre**.)_

_(You want bizarre? Try riding around in your friends' heads for a day or two.)_

_(Touché. You go on playing for me. But...)_ Hermione's hand made an abortive attempt to flip over a card. Hermione smiled. _(Good, I **can** stop you.)_

_(What was that for?)_

_(Just seeing if I could.)_

_(I think I could override your stop command if I wanted to,)_ Harry mused. _(But I don't think I want to arm-wrestle you for your own body. Are you going to play that, or may I?)_

_(You go ahead.)_

The game went on several minutes. Hermione was doing much better with Harry's quick reflexes helping her, even though she was barely paying attention.

Ron started whistling the Happy Birthday tune at one point, for the seventh time that day, earning himself a slap from Ginny, for the seventh time that day. _Wonder what that's about,_ Hermione thought, for the seventh time that day.

_(Fred and George mentally scarred her for life when she was three,)_ Harry explained. _(The incident involved a giant earthworm sitting in her bed singing Happy Birthday. She's got over the fear of giant earthworms. Hasn't quite got over the fear of the Happy Birthday song. Fortunately for her, August eleventh only comes around once a year. Kindly don't tell her I told you, since she doesn't know I know.)_

_(You went digging through her memories, did you?)_ Hermione thought, disapproving. _(That is rude, crude, and highly unethical. Apologize.)_

_(Is it my fault she thinks too loudly?)_

_(Well, no, I suppose not,)_ Hermione had to admit. _(Apologize anyway.)_ She paused a moment, putting things together. _(Today's her birthday, then?)_

"Yes," Ginny said, startling Hermione—_why_ she was being so touchy today, she had no idea—and making everyone else look at her. "Today happens to be my twelfth birthday."

"Happy birthday, then," Hermione said, in chorus with everyone else in the room, and watched her hand flip a card from her deck to the central pile.

The fireplace flared green, bringing an instant pause to the game, and Aletha stepped out, two wands in hand and a smug grin on her face. "Crozer Street Lunatics, two, He-Who-Must-Be-Hyphenated, zero. Oh, and I get to argue custody with the Dursleys on Monday."

"That's good—do we have chicken?" Alex asked.

Aletha blinked. "Chicken?"

"Can we say 'non sequitur'?" Remus commented. "Sirius wants chicken for dinner and Alex didn't find any in your freezer. What was that about the scorecard?"

"No, there's no chicken," Aletha told Alex, who smirked at Aunt Danger.

"But I wanted chicken cordon bleu," Sirius said, sounding a bit whiny.

Alex blinked. "I was thinking baked chicken and rice, I know Mum's trick with rosemary and the chicken skin and I found chicken bouillon to flavor the rice with, but I can do chicken cordon bleu too—I just need chicken, deli ham, Swiss, cornflakes—" He broke off. Aletha was sitting on the floor, laughing.

"That was a none-too-subtle ploy to get me to take him to this one restaurant we went to once," she explained when she had her breathing under control. "Which is not happening, by the way. I'm surprised you'd even think of chicken cordon bleu."

"I made it for Mum's last birthday."

"He did," Danger confirmed. "We couldn't get the chicken breasts thin enough for it to work properly, but it was good anyway."

"I don't think that'll be a problem this time," Alex added, grinning at Remus. "Will it, Dad?"

"Unlikely, provided somebody actually goes and buys chicken. But Aletha had something else to say..." Remus turned to Aletha.

"Yes I did. You might be surprised to learn," Aletha told everyone, "that it seems Pettigrew had no fewer than four wands on his person. One is his stubby little thing that nobody ever found. Then one willow and one mahogany that look suspiciously similar to Lily's and James's—here, you can use this until we get yours back," she added to Sirius, tossing the dark brown one at him. "You and James both had mahogany and dragon heartstring, you shouldn't have any trouble."

"Thanks," Sirius said, tucking it away. "What about number four?"

"Well...wand number four was yew, and it was thirteen and a half inches, and it had a phoenix feather core. And it went up in flames when I went to pick it up, and nobody has the faintest idea why or how."

"If nobody knows how, then I'm Queen of England," Ginny said. Aletha's entrance smile had already told the whole story.

_(YEAH-HAH!)_ Harry cheered, prompting a wave of hands clapped to ears and pained expressions. Apparently whatever connections he had with everyone in the room were strong enough that everyone could hear his mental shout, even though his consciousness was presently occupying a corner of Hermione's head. She wasn't going to try to understand. Quite frankly—and she could admit this to herself, if to no one else—the metaphysics were utterly beyond her.

"_Now_ can somebody go get that chicken?" Sirius asked wistfully.

"Oh, _fine_," Danger said, whether in mock or real exasperation Hermione wasn't sure. "Letha, point me at the nearest supermarket?"

"Whose play is it again?" Hermione wondered.

"Yours, I think," Ginny said.

"Oh—yeah—"

"_King_?" Alex demanded, looking at Hermione's card. He only had three cards left. None of which, they discovered, were face cards. "I give up."

"More room for me," Ron declared, scooting Ginny into the space Alex had just vacated and claiming her space for himself.

"Hmph." Alex wandered off in the direction of the front room. There was the sound of a TV switching on, followed by murmuring voices.

"What, no witty rejoinder?" Hermione murmured, once he was safely out of earshot.

Several minutes ticked by. Letha joined the game, evicting Meghan from Sirius's lap to do so. Ron ran out of cards and gave up in disgust. Remus hit his third reentry.

The sound of the door opening coincided with the opening music for the seven o'clock news. "I'm back," Danger called unnecessarily, then came two thumps that were undoubtedly grocery bags meeting floor. Sounds of scurrying—probably Alex taking one or both bags to the kitchen. Then—"Oh my _GOD!_"

"What?" said several voices at once. Hermione felt the vague cinnamon scent in the back of her mind disappear.

"Remus," said Danger's very strained voice, "would you come look at this and tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

Mad rush for the front room. Remus, the first one there, took one look at whatever was on the TV screen and magicked a gray smoky something across the hallway, blocking out the sight of the room. Sirius and Aletha had no trouble walking through, but the kids did.

He hadn't done anything about sound, though. "...found early this morning..." came across loud and clear, as did "...brutally murdered..." and "...now identified as British tourists..."

The cinnamony presence returned. _(Hermione—it's your parents,)_ Harry said, his voice pained, and from everyone else's reactions, they heard him too. _(It's horrible, you don't want to see it—)_

But Harry couldn't quite block out the image he'd seen on the news. The Arc de Triomphe—Hermione recognized it from pictures. But there, painted in red—_painted in blood_—was a sketch of a snake-tongued skull, and a lightning bolt crossed with an X, and between them something human-sized and a hideous shade of red, with long brown hair and a familiar face.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Oh God no."

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	12. Out, Out, Brief Candle

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle. Oh, and thanks to Anne and JimStarluck for giving me a kick-start for this chapter after it stalled on me (the first time), and this chapter is dedicated to StarrySkiesFoxxyWoxxy Corporation (they know why).

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 12: Out, Out, Brief Candle

Dinner that night was somber and all but silent.

Alex didn't speak, instead staring at his plate and pushing around the rice and peas and cut-up bits of baked chicken, only occasionally putting a bite in his mouth. (Chicken cordon bleu was being reserved for a night when, in Ms. Letha's words, no one was likely to be crying over it.) His mother wasn't even doing that, having claimed a seat on her husband's lap. His plate had a double load on it, and he was alternating which mouth the fork went to. Alex would have been gagging if he wasn't so preoccupied.

Ron was shoveling food down with almost his usual abandon, of course, Meghan was only opening her mouth to put food in, Ginny was teary-eyed but otherwise fine, and Mr. Black and Ms. Letha were talking about recent events in between mouthfuls, with occasional comments from Alex's dad and the still-freaky voice in all their heads. Hermione was putting on a decent façade of normalcy, which would be positively astonishing if Harry hadn't happened to mention that he could move whoever's body he happened to be in as if it was his own.

Alex felt horrible.

It was his fault Uncle Dave and Aunt Rose were dead. It was all his fault. _He_ was the idiot who'd brought Voldemort into that dream, after all; _he_ was the reason Voldemort had a body again. There was no doubt that it was Voldemort who'd killed his aunt and uncle—he'd signed his artwork. Skull for death, which he dished out freely but was deathly afraid to taste; snake-tongue because he spoke it; Harry's lightning scar, crossed out, to announce Harry's death; Harry and Alex had figured _that_ out well before anyone saw fit to inform them that the snake-tongued skull was Voldemort's calling card.

He _liked_ his aunt and uncle. But now they just...weren't there. Nothing left but memories and the icky red stuff on the Arc de Triomphe...

_...almost like a bad horror movie..._

Except this wasn't a bad horror movie.

This was real.

_And it's All._

_My._

_Fault._

Alex pushed away his plate. Every bad horror movie he had ever seen (and he was now seriously regretting every one of them) was whirling in his head, with his mangled aunt and uncle starring as the chief creepies. _All your fault, Alex—you brought him back from the dead—you did it—you killed us—all your fault—_

xXxXx

Judging by the expression on Hermione's cousin's face, it was dawning on him that it was all Alex's fault that Hermione's parents were dead.

_Maybe he'll shut up for a while and not do anything stupid anymore._

_Wish I could figure out a way to scare Malfoy into shutting up._

_Probably can't sucker him into getting people he likes killed and realizing it's his fault._

_Too bad._

_Not that Hermione's parents being dead is a good thing, but at least it got Alex to shut up. He's worse than Malfoy, I swear._

Ron took another glance between bites. _He looks like he's about to faint._

_Not my problem._

xXxXx

_(—which still doesn't mean he won't bolt before he ever **gets** to Azka—)_

"Harry?"

_(Sorry, Ginny was saying something—look at Alex.)_

Sirius looked. _If he was translucent, I'd call him a ghost, he's so pale._

_(Alex?)_ No response. _(Alex...)_ Nothing. _(Alex!)_ Nada. _(Microphone check, testing, testing one two, testing one two three, box shoe jump run—)_ Sirius bit back a snigger. _(—plane dirt Quidditch Harry wand pencil gumdrop—)_

"That isn't working, Harry," Ginny pointed out.

_(Got any better ideas?)_

Ginny rolled her eyes at no one in particular (as Sirius knew, it was rather difficult to figure out exactly where the cinnamon scent of Harry was coming from), picked up her glass, and tossed the contents in Alex's face.

Alex coughed and sputtered "Hey, what was that for?" he demanded indignantly, once he'd stopped.

"Now you're responding again," Remus pointed out, pulling his wand. A flick, and the scattered milk disappeared.

"You were halfway to dreamland," someone croaked, and it was a moment before Sirius connected it to Danger's moving mouth. "How you managed that without falling asleep, I do not know. Would you mind sharing what you were dreaming about?"

Mumble mumble.

"So we can hear you."

Silence.

_(Oh, for—)_ A moment's pause, then a particularly nasty nonmagical curse from Harry.

"Do I want to know where you learned that word?" Sirius wondered aloud.

"What word?" several people asked.

_(I stole it out of your head, Sirius, and you're the only one who heard it,)_ Harry replied, and this evidently was audible all around the table, judging by Aletha's sigh. _(For God's sake, Alex, it is **not your fault**!)_

_(What do you **MEAN** it's not my fault?)_ echoed along the link. _(He killed them—**I** brought him back—if I wasn't so stupid they'd still be alive—)_

A gasp from Meghan. All attention promptly centered on her. "Harry—what you're doing to take memories—could it—could it work in reverse?"

_(Reverse?)_ Harry asked. _(You mean put memories in heads?)_

_That's not it,_ Sirius realized. A variety of profanity sprang immediately to mind. Every word of which was echoed by Harry, who had apparently jumped aboard Sirius's train of thought.

_(I'm going to go see whether he actually has read my memories or not,)_ Harry said once that train engine had run out of steam. _(Here's hoping not.)_

_Here's hoping not indeed._

Complete silence. No one was bothering to eat anymore. Even Ron had put down his fork, after a subtle prompt from his sister consisting of her hand across his cheek, where there was now a developing bruise.

Aletha sucked in a breath, suddenly looking like she wanted to curse and hit something, and let it out. "The diary," she said on the next breath.

There weren't profane enough words to describe Sirius's thoughts on the possibility of He-Who-Needs-To-Spend-More-Time-In-The-Sun having read Harry's memories connected to that infernal diary, and if there were, it probably wasn't too bright to say them with kids listening.

"Fiddlesticks."

Several people laughed, looking as if they were surprised they still could.

"Tonight," Remus said firmly. "The one has to wait till tomorrow, but we can do the others tonight. Danger, love, you'll have to stay here—oof."

Sirius pointedly did not snicker. He'd taken enough hard things to the gut from Aletha once upon a time to sympathize with Remus, unless Danger's elbows were softer than they looked, which was unlikely.

Remus caught his breath. "You'd just be putting yourself in—harm's way," he said. "Without magic, you can't do anything to help."

Danger scowled. "Rub it in, why don't you."

"Not my intention."

"I know." She pressed her face against his shoulder.

Remus looked around her at the other two adults. "One of us should stay behind too, so there's a fully qualified wand-user in the house in case anything happens. Rock-paper-scissors you for it, loser stays."

"Fair," Sirius decided, just as Aletha said, "Fine."

Three hands were extended over the table, palm up. Three fists thumped into the palms one-two-three. One fist, one V, one flattened hand. Three noises of disgust.

_Ding-dong._

"Wonderful," Aletha observed, standing. "I'll get that." A moment later, her voice echoed back down the hall from the direction of the front door. "Oh, hello, Opal. Meghan can't come over tonight, we've got guests—"

"I didn't come to play with Meghan," a girl's voice answered. "I'm returning a few things of hers I borrowed, and could she please bring back the videos I left here last time I slept over?"

"Oh, that's right, you're moving, I'm sorry, Opal, I completely forgot—life's been a bit hectic lately—"

"'Hectic' is not exactly the word I'd use," Sirius commented, standing himself. "Chaotic, maybe, or just plain crazy..." He leaned out the kitchen doorway, provoking an "Eep!" from the girl at the door. Frowning, he turned his head to look at everyone else. "Do I really look that scary?"

"You may not have noticed," Ginny said dryly, "but you look a great deal like that nutter on the news a week ago—oh, what was his name—Sirius Black, that's right. Maybe you've heard of him?"

Remus turned his head and looked Sirius up and down. "She's got a point, Paddy," he informed him. "You do bear a frightening resemblance to Sirius Black."

Meghan choked on her milk. Hermione leaned over and thumped her on the back. Alex clamped his mouth shut.

"Don't be ridiculous, he's got hair down to here," Sirius said dismissively, waving a hand at waist level and suppressing a grin. "I ask again, do I really look that scary?"

"Yes," said Danger, Ron, and Opal, almost simultaneously.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Aletha, coming into the kitchen and depositing her armful of toys on the nearest counter as Sirius turned to face her. "If it reassures you, I am reasonably certain that a murderous madman would not put up with anyone doing this." She backhanded Sirius across the mouth.

"Ow."

_Didn't hold back, did she?_

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" Aletha asked, a trifle insincerely. "Here, let me kiss it better—"

xXxXx

"So who was that?" Ginny asked a few minutes later, after the front door clicked shut behind Opal.

"My best friend," Meghan explained. "Mama rents the other half of this house to them. Only Opal's dad got transferred, so they're moving out, so Opal's making sure I've got all my stuff back and she's got all hers."

"I wonder..." Mr. Lupin said.

"Wonder what?"

"Do you think your mother will object to having new boarders? Since we have Alex and will probably have Hermione—"

"Definitely," Ms. Danger interjected. "It's me or Mum or Rose's parents, and Rose's parents aren't fond of Hermione, and Mum's having enough trouble taking care of herself. And we're a two-parent home now."

"And Sirius and Aletha have you, Meghan, and will hopefully have Harry," Mr. Lupin continued, "and will shortly have an empty house next door to rent out. I suspect that Hermione and Harry would enjoy living close together, given the option. I know I'd rather live here, next door to two friends I haven't seen in far too long, than in my decrepit little cottage, or in a neighborhood like Danger's."

"_I_ would like to get away from Dudley Dursley," Alex added. He wasn't much paler than usual, which probably meant he was calming down.

"I don't think Mama will have any problem with her best friends moving in next door," Meghan said, grinning. Apparently she rather liked the idea herself.

"Why don't you two ask her when she's done making kissy-faces?" Ginny suggested.

xXxXx

Some length of time later, during which Meghan, Opal, and the toys disappeared, Sirius had a clear enough mind to think, _That made it all worth it._

"Ahem," Remus said, which made the stupid grin vanish from Sirius's face. He held out his palm, fist ready to smack into it.

"Do we have to?" Sirius whined. He liked holding on to Aletha. He didn't want to let go.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Are you volunteering to stay with Danger and the kids?"

A burst of cinnamon scent in the room. _(He did read my memories, that's how he knew where to find the Grangers,)_ said Harry's shaky voice. _(He's mad you weren't there, Hermione, he wanted to kill you himself, and make you think it was me. He's planning another raid like that tonight, but I don't know who he's after. I don't want to find out what'll happen if he catches me in his head.)_

"Nor do I," Sirius muttered aloud.

_(He wants to do this one mostly himself,) _Harry rushed on,_ (not like last night, which was mostly Lucius and Amycus and Alecto. Whoever Amycus and Alecto are. He doesn't know he lost the diary yet, but he could find out any time, from me or from Malfoy. We've got to get the others tonight. And can someone think of something attention-getting and mind-numbing, please?)_ There was a tone to Harry's voice that gave the distinct impression that had he still had a stomach, it would be in a state of active rebellion. _(I saw them die, and it was horrible, and I don't want to think about it anymore.)_

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer—"

"Alex, _don't_."

"Take one down, pass it around—"

"_Alex!_"

"Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall!"

Danger gave up and started singing along. "Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer—"

Various children's voices joined in at different points. "Take one down, pass it around, ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall—"

Hermione pushed away her plate, shoved back her chair, and stormed out of the room, no doubt to go cry elsewhere.

_(You've got to get them tonight,)_ Harry repeated.

"We're ahead of you," Aletha said, turning around in Sirius's arms to face Remus. "Rock-paper-scissoring to see who has to stay and sing. Or we will be once this lout lets go of me."

Sirius pulled a pouty face, but held out a fist and a palm to thump it into, as did Aletha.

Thump thump thump. Scissors scissors rock.

"Yes!" Sirius raised both arms to the ceiling in a victory salute, then slid them back around Aletha's waist.

"Ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-five bottles of beer—"

Thump thump thump. Paper paper. "Drat," was Aletha's comment.

"Ninety-four bottles of beer on the wall!"

Thump thump thump. Rock scissors. "Double drat."

"Sorry, Aletha," Remus said, half-grinning.

"You know," Sirius said thoughtfully, "it hardly seems fair to split you two up. Since you've only been together a couple days and all."

"What, and miss out on this?" Remus asked, disentangling himself from Danger. "Besides, Aletha already had her shot at one."

"And you'll get yours tomorrow, we can't get there without you—"

"If I cared to stay behind, I would have volunteered to."

"Take one down, pass it around, ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall!"

"Harry, would you be so kind as to show us where we're going?" Remus asked politely, walking out of the room. Sirius stole a quick kiss from Aletha and followed.

xXxXx

"You're sure this is the place, Harry?" Remus asked, looking around at the water surrounding the rock he and Sirius were standing on, sea to one side and cliff to the other.

_(Positive,)_ Harry replied. _(Do Lumos, point it over there, look—)_

"_Lumos_," Remus said, raising his wand. Sure enough, a few feet away across the water was a hole in the cliff side. "Good thing it's nearly low tide. We'd get soaked clear through otherwise. That tunnel might just fill up completely at high tide." He swung a leg over Aletha's Comet and flew into the hole, careful to stay close enough to the water to keep from banging his head on the tunnel ceiling, and hearing Sirius close behind on Harry's Nimbus.

The tunnel curved left as it moved deeper into the cliff. "How much farther?" Remus asked aloud, hearing it echo against the walls.

_(Not very—there, on the right, up some—)_

Remus turned the broom right and leaned forward, pulling it higher, then brought it to a halt at the rocky platform and dismounted.

"Cold in here," Sirius remarked, looking around the cavern. "Now where's this door you were talking about?"

_(Give me your hand—)_

Remus glanced at Sirius, whose right arm was moving on its own, swinging around to point at a spot on the wall that looked no different from the rest of the stone.

_(There. Somebody's got to bleed on it to open the door—I told you it was creepy,)_ Harry answered at Sirius's shudder. _(Any volunteers?)_

"How much blood?" Sirius asked.

_(Not much, I don't think.)_

Sirius pulled his wand and pointed it at his right hand. "_Ruculus_." A half-inch line, glistening in the wandlight, appeared on the tip of his middle finger. "Hah." He closed the other fingers and took a step forward to flick the blood across the rock. "Take that, Lord Skeleton Man."

"Thirty-four going on fifteen," Remus muttered.

"Hey, I resemble that remark—wow."

'Wow' did indeed seem to be the proper response to seeing an archway traced in silver light on the rock, and all the rock inside the archway quietly disappearing.

"_Lumos Maxima_," Remus said, stepping inside after Sirius.

"OW! Warn me next time!"

"Good Lord, this is a big cave," Remus remarked once his eyes had adjusted. Even with the blazing light of his wand making it nearly daylight, the farther walls were shrouded in darkness.

_(See the green glowy thing? Fly over there.)_

Remus and Sirius looked at each other. "You first," they said together.

"After you," Remus said courteously.

"Oh no, I insist, after _you_," Sirius said, sweeping a bow that waved Remus towards the lake.

_(Oh, just somebody **go**.)_

Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius, dimmed his wandlight, mounted the Comet, and pointed it at the source of the green glow.

"_What_ is _that_?" Sirius asked a few minutes later.

"What is what?" Remus asked.

"Look."

Remus turned the broom around and flew back fifteen feet to where Sirius was hovering, about eight feet off the water.

"Down there," Sirius said, pointing.

_(I don't know what it is, but it's called an Inferius and there's about a hundred of them in here,)_ Harry told them.

"You might have mentioned that _before_!" Sirius exclaimed.

_(Why?)_ Harry asked. _(We don't need to worry about them as long as we don't touch the water. What **are** Inferiuses, anyway?)_

"Inferi," Remus corrected. "Animated dead bodies. Damn hard to get rid of, because they are naturally impossible to kill, and they do not notice losing arms or whatnot."

"But they burn up very nicely..." Sirius said slowly. "Remus, go up another few feet," he added, flying up five feet himself.

"Why?" Remus asked, sensing a Sirius Black Copyrighted Really Dumb Idea in the works.

Sirius smirked at Remus. "You up for some target practice?" Without waiting for an answer, he waved his wand, and a fist-sized rock materialized, then fell with a _plop_ into the water.

A woman's corpse exploded out of the water a few feet from the ripple mark.

"_Incendio!_"

The Inferius was ash before it hit the water.

Remus shrugged, thinking _Maybe this one's not so dumb after all_, and pointed his wand down. "_Conjico_!" A splash, exactly as would have happened had Remus dropped a small rock into the water instead of throwing this spell at it. Another Inferius leapt out at him. "_Incendio_!"

xXxXx

Alex couldn't sleep.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He had fallen asleep easily enough, and he'd slept much better curled up on the couch with Mum and Hermione than he had in the spare bed with Freckles. (How exactly he'd ended up asleep on the couch with Mum and Hermione, he was pretty sure nobody knew. It probably had something to do with Mum wanting to comfort both of them at once, and nobody bothering getting up to go upstairs to bed.) But the horror-movie thoughts were haunting his dreams just as they had his waking mind. This was not conducive to peaceful sleep.

_Nor is going to bed hungry._ Alex wiggled out from under Mum's arm and headed to the kitchen, flipping on the kitchen light when he passed the switch. _Leftover chicken, no thanks, leftover rice, no thanks, leftover peas, no thanks, maybe tomorrow. Hey, there's cookies left._

_(What are you doing awake?)_ said an unexpected voice.

_(Eating,)_ Alex replied, going for a tone of isn't-that-obvious. _(Don't you have a treasure hunt to be on?)_

_(I came to see if Letha or Danger was up, so I could tell—)_

Darkness.

_(Hey, who turned out the lights?)_ Alex demanded.

_(Wasn't me.)_

Alex put the lid back on the cookie jar by feel, wincing at the way the ceramic knocked together in the silence. Then looked at the kitchen entrance. _(Did you hear something?)_

_(Just you being clumsy.)_

_(Thank you ever so.)_

Alex picked up his cookies and started back for the living room, then froze in place. _(Is it just me, or is it really cold in here all of a sudden?)_

_(I wouldn't know, I can't feel anything...but I've got a bad feeling about this...)_

_(Ha ha, Han.)_

_(Huh?)_

_(Never seen Star Wars?)_

_(No—oh no.)_

Alex turned around.

_(And I thought this was a bad horror movie **before**...)_

A flash of memory—dream-Voldemort becoming real. Another—green light.

A woman's scream.

Nothing.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	13. As Breath Into the Wind

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 13: As Breath Into the Wind

"_Conjico_!"

Nothing happened, except that a few more ripples appeared on the surface of the lake. "I think we ran out of targets," Sirius said.

_(Yay you. Now can we get a move on?)_

"Patience is a virtue," Remus remarked, but he was already flying towards the green glowy thing.

Sirius grinned and kicked the Nimbus into high gear, swerving around Remus and doing two loops of the little island for the fun of it. It had been so _long_ since he'd been on a broom. _I'd rather have my bike back, but it's too big, I can't do acrobatics on it worth a damn._

_(May I?)_ Harry asked.

_(Go for it. Show me what you can do.)_ Sirius consciously relaxed, so Harry wouldn't have any trouble. _Though this is creepy beyond belief._

_(I heard that.)_ The Nimbus made a sharp turn into a straight vertical climb. _(This cave's **huge**,)_ Harry observed, taking a hairpin turn well before reaching the ceiling and heading straight back down.

_(Planning to pull out anytime soon?)_ Sirius asked, seeing the water getting close alarmingly fast. Maybe it was peculiar of him, but he had no particular desire to find himself touching water that had had any corpses in it, let alone one hundred three (they'd kept score on general principle; he'd roasted fifty-nine of them, Remus forty-four), and he certainly did not wish to find himself immersed in it.

Abruptly he was skimming just above the surface of the water, then angling up straight at Remus.

_(Harry, you're insane.)_

_(Prove it,)_ Harry said, cheerier than he'd sounded in days, doing a combined roll and turn around Remus (whose expression was priceless) and shooting back past him to the island.

"Showoff," Remus said once he and Sirius both had their feet on the ground.

"Nah, that was all Harry," Sirius said, waving a hand nonchalantly. "Now what the hell is this?" he asked, indicating the stone pedestal in the center of the rock they were standing on. The pedestal was topped by a carved stone basin, which was filled to the brim with a luminous emerald-green liquid, a drop of which spilled over the edge about every twenty seconds.

_(It's in the bowl,)_ Harry said. _(There's a lot of spells on there so we have to touch the locket to get it out of the bowl, we can't come close to the green stuff itself so we have to get it out of the way before we can get at the locket, and we can't get the liquid out of the bowl any other way than drinking that foul concoction. And you do **not** want to do that.)_

"Why not?" Sirius asked.

_(It **used** to be a Fountain of Knowledge, or some such thing.)_

"I didn't think there were any Fountains of Knowledge anymore," Remus commented, leaning over the basin for a closer look at the liquid.

_(This isn't one.)_

"What's a Fountain of Knowledge?" Sirius wondered.

"Exactly what it sounds like, really," Remus explained. "You'd drink from it and you'd see things. Things happening right then, things that had already happened, things that were about to happen, things that could happen. All of it was important and significant to you somehow, even if you couldn't at first see how, because whatever you learned from the Fountain made you a better and wiser person. I am curious, however, as to how it is that this is no longer a Fountain."

_(You don't want to know,)_ Harry said with finality. _(**I** don't want to know. Whenever this is all over with, I want to find something to scrub out my brain with. It's horrible.)_

"Therapeutic Obliviation?" Sirius suggested, and a moment later found himself the proud owner of a pair of ears that drooped down to his waist. "Oy! What was that for?"

Remus fixed him with a look. "Memory Charms are not funny. Memory Charms on Harry are doubly not funny."

Sirius rolled his eyes where Remus couldn't see. _Moony still has no sense of humor. _

_(Padfoot still has a twisted sense of humor,) _Harry corrected.

Sirius sighed. "Okay, okay, I take it back. Now will you take these back?"

Remus waved his wand again, and the ears returned to their normal shape and size. "Harry, never mind how it became not-a-Fountain. If I drank some, what would happen?"

_(You'd still see important and significant things that already happened or were happening or are about to happen or could happen, only—)_

"Then what's the difference?" Sirius asked.

_(Everything you saw—it'd be about you hurting people. Especially people who didn't deserve it.)_

A flash of memory—_"Bad idea, Sirius. Very bad idea."..."So what would you suggest?" "Do a swap. Secretly..." "I like that." "I thought you would."_

Sirius shuddered.

_(Now you both know why you really do not want to drink that stuff,)_ Harry said grimly.

"Was I thinking that loudly?" Sirius asked, just as Remus asked "You heard that?"

_(Yeah. Sirius remembered talking with Wormtail about being my parents' Secret-Keeper, and Remus imagined being a werewolf and attacking someone, and now nobody wants to drink from the fountain, so we need to figure out some way to get at the locket that doesn't involve drinking that.)_

"_Accio_!" Remus tried. Nothing happened.

_(I thought I already said you have to be touching the locket to get it off the bottom of the bowl?)_

"You can't blame me for trying," Remus said. His expression turned thoughtful. "I wonder how Voldemort would get the locket, should he want to."

_(Drink the stuff, of course. He **likes** hurting people, remember? That stuff's the nectar of the gods to him. It might even give him ideas for more ways to hurt people.)_

_Shut up,_ Sirius signaled to Remus, hoping Remus remembered the hand-sign code the Marauders had used in school, and surprised that he remembered it himself. _Can't you tell he doesn't want to think about it?_

_You try figuring out how to solve this without him telling us anything else,_ Remus signaled back.

_(If you're trying to keep me out of the conversation, it's not working,)_ Harry observed.

"Fine, whatever," Sirius said, raising his hands in surrender. "Just so I'm sure I'm clear, we have to touch the locket to take it, we can't touch the ook—"

_(Ook?)_ Harry started snickering.

Sirius ignored this. "—we can't get it out of the bowl unless we drink it, and we don't want to drink it? But we'd have to touch it to drink it, or we couldn't swallow..."

"I smell another Sirius Black Copyrighted Really Dumb Idea," Remus remarked. "The last one didn't blow up in our face, which means this one is guaranteed to do exactly that, and in a manner calculated to do the most damage possible."

"Hmph." Sirius frowned. _I wonder..._ He cupped his hands in the way he would to drink from a faucet with no cup handy, then went to scoop out some of the ick-stuff. He couldn't get his hands closer than an inch to the liquid.

_(Told you so.)_

"Didn't doubt you," Sirius replied, trying to figure out what the thought was that had prompted the pretend-to-drink attempt. _It has to touch our mouths or we couldn't drink it, which would defeat the purpose as far as Voldemort's concerned..._

"I can't even tell if it's _in_ there," Remus said. He moved his still-lit wand over the basin. "Reflective. Interesting. _Nox_."

"Hey!"

_(It's still plenty light enough,)_ Harry pointed out. _(Just give it a minute for your eyes to adjust.)_

Sirius blinked several times. The potion wasn't opaque after all; without light to reflect off the surface, it was almost transparent. There was certainly a locket in there, a golden one from the look of it, though the glow of the liquid made it so that looking at the locket was like looking through a foggy green veil.

Something snapped into focus in Sirius's head. The Halloween party, several months before Harry was born, the one that James and Lily had taken so much teasing over—an idea of Lily's, something she said was a Muggle Halloween tradition—

_(No, don't—)_

Sirius stuck his face in the bowl.

_(**IDIOT!**)_

_Almost—little forward, little left—there!_

Sirius straightened up, turned his head, and spat out the locket and a mouthful of green stuff. The locket clattered on the rock. "That stuff tastes _horrid_," he said with feeling, and pointed his wand into his mouth. "_Aguamenti_." The water disappeared almost as soon as it entered his mouth, but it took the green stuff with it, and the vague dementor-ish feelings he'd started to have vanished.

"Idiot savant," Remus said, sounding shaken.

"Just like bobbing for apples," Sirius said, grinning. He splashed more conjured water over his face, then shook it out of his hair. "Rock-paper-scissors you for who gets to make the locket go boom."

_(Wait!)_ Harry shouted, and Sirius winced. _(Something's not right...somebody look at it, I can't see it properly without borrowing your eyes...)_

Remus doused the locket with another Aguamenti, knelt and picked it up, then stood, holding it out by its chain where he and Sirius could both see it easily. It spun lazily around, then back the other way.

_(Shit,)_ was Harry's considered opinion. _(That's not it. That's not the right one.)_

_Not...the...right...one? _"You mean I just stuck my face in that stuff for nothing?" Sirius demanded.

"So where _is_ the right one, and how did this one get here?" Remus asked, with a touch of a suspicious frown.

_(I don't know and I don't know,)_ Harry answered. _(But it's definitely not the Horcrux, it's—oh, I'll just show you.)_

An image of a golden locket, somewhat larger than the one Remus held and with an ornate serpentine S, swam before Sirius's eyes and was gone.

_(Did you see that?)_

"Locket, bit bigger, carved snakey S?" Sirius asked.

_(Good, you did. You see we have a problem.)_

"Yeah, we definitely have a problem," Sirius agreed.

"Harry, would you pop back to Crozer Street, and if Danger or Aletha is awake, tell them what we found?" Remus requested.

"Or what we didn't find," Sirius corrected.

"Or what we didn't find," Remus repeated. "We'll go on to—Little Hangleton, was it?—if you'd please show us where to go, though you'll probably be back before we get out where we can Apparate."

_(All right.)_ The cinnamony scent faded away.

Remus pocketed the locket and picked up the Comet. "Shall we, then?"

"I do believe we shall," Sirius said, mounting the Nimbus, and shot across the lake before Remus had gotten his leg across his broom.

"Now what?" Sirius asked, indicating the expanse of solid wall, once Remus caught up to him on the lake shore.

Remus sighed. "_Ruculus_." He touched the wall with his bleeding finger, and when nothing happened, started walking to the left, leaving a trail of blood on the stone. "You go that way," he said over his shoulder. "Start where I—never mind." He walked through the archway, Sirius right behind.

The two-broom cavalcade was proceeding down the tunnel when Sirius shivered. At the same moment, Remus swore and grabbed at his left hand, then banged himself into the tunnel wall, prompting more swearing. He looked over his shoulder. "We've got to get back to London."

"Something's wrong at home," Sirius finished the thought.

xXxXx

Cold...dark...it shouldn't be either one...well, dark maybe, but not dark like this...

_Crash._

Meghan tumbled off Mama's bed, landing on the floor with a thump, then an _oof_ as Ginny landed on top of her. She pushed Ginny off, rolled to her feet, and all but flew out the door.

"_ALEX!_" someone shrieked. Danger. The house was filled with purple light.

Meghan took the shortcut downstairs (jumping the railing), hit the ground with a thud, jumped up, and rounded the corner into the kitchen, leaping over the scattered fragments of cookie jar and cookies to land next to Danger, who was kneeling on the floor, clutching a limp tomato-colored Alex, sobbing. There was a trickle of blood on the floor where she'd evidently cut herself on a ceramic shard, but equally evidently, she hadn't noticed.

"What happened?" Meghan asked, taking Alex's wrist. "What's wrong?" He had a pulse; surely he was just sleeping? But then why was she crying?

"Remus told me—Remus said—I think it was—"

Well, this wasn't getting anywhere. "Breathe," Meghan ordered. "In, two, three, hold, two, three, four, out, two, three, hold, two, in, two, three, hold, two, three, four..." Danger took a ragged breath, let it out, then took another. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Another breath. "I just don't know. I know what I saw, but I don't know what happened, or what it means—I can guess, but I hope I'm wrong—I just hope I'm wrong..."

"Breathe," Meghan repeated. "Calm down."

"Yes," said Mama's voice from behind Meghan. "Breathe. Calm down." The cookie jar shards skittered across the floor, probably propelled by Mama's wand. Mama knelt next to Danger, running her wand up and down Alex's body. "A couple little cuts, a bump on the head, but that's easily fixable, and it shouldn't have knocked him out—he has a horrible sunburn, which was not there earlier today, and I haven't a clue where that could have come from—Danger, you're bleeding—"

Meghan scooted back to let Mama work. Something to one side caught her eye. A little roundish thing, no more than an inch across, royal blue, that almost looked as if it were made only of light, and another just like it but differently distorted and a fiery red...

_Where did those come from?_

Meghan crossed the three feet to the little balls on her hands and knees and scooped one up in each hand. _Ew ew slimy ew—that was **not** what I was expecting..._

What she _had_ been expecting, she wasn't exactly sure, but slimy stuff that made her shiver was not it.

Wait—were the little things glowing? Blue, a shade nearer sky-blue than royal—yes, both were glowing the lighter blue, though their original colors shone through—no, it wasn't them, both her _hands_ were glowing—

_That's weird. They don't feel slimy anymore._ The blue ball—and it was a ball, now, not something looking like a Playdoh ball did after it got squished—was soft, velvety, the red one—also spherical rather than irregular—seemed to have little bumps everywhere, and both were quite nice to touch. And there was not a trace of slimy feeling.

_And now my hands stopped glowing. **Weird**._

The door opening and closing. Running footsteps. "Danger—Alex!"

"Move over," Dad's voice ordered. "Let the man through." Meghan turned. Ron and Ginny were getting out of the doorway. Hermione, who (understandably) looked as if she'd been crying a river, was sitting next to Danger and Alex, on the other side from Mama, who moved to let Remus get to his wife and son.

Danger threw one arm around Remus's neck. Remus put both of his around her and Alex. Danger buried her face in Remus's chest, sobbing again. "Remus—Alex—Alex—"

Remus visibly stiffened. "What happened, love? Tell me."

A pause, then a sudden intake of breath. "No. Please no."

"Please no what?" Mama asked.

This brought Remus up short. "But she said—"

"She didn't say anything," Dad said from the door. "Not that I could hear."

Remus looked down at Danger, still with her face hidden against him. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then said, slowly and deliberately, "I am hearing her, in my head. The way we hear Harry. She saw a dementor kiss Alex."

"Oh my God," Mama said.

_Harry._ The little red ball was the exact shade that Meghan had seen hovering around this person or that one or flitting from one to another, precisely when and where Harry happened to be. (Well, most of the ball was; there was a sliver of green rimmed with white, but that didn't matter, did it?)

"She also saw the dementor vanish in a blast of purple light from her hands," Remus continued, settling into a seat on the floor rather than a half-kneel.

"I saw purple light," Meghan said. "And I didn't see a dementor."

Remus met her eyes. His were swirled with brown as well as their normal blue, Meghan noticed, in the exact way that people's eyes would swirl green when Harry was in their heads. He wasn't kidding about hearing Danger the way he did Harry, then.

"Purple light?" Dad asked.

"Purple light," Danger said for herself, turning her head a little so she wasn't talking into Remus's chest. "I yelled for Alex and I threw purple light at the dementor and the dementor just—poof. Gone. Evaporated."

"Purple light," Hermione repeated. "Sunburn. UV?"

"UV—that would explain the sunburn," Mama said, nodding.

"Wait, what is this UV stuff?" Ron asked.

"Do you know what the electromagnetic spectrum is, Ron?" Hermione asked, her tone marking her slide into lecture mode.

"No, should I?"

Meghan let the conversation wash over her head, hearing the words but not really understanding them. There was something she needed to think of, and it was just—out—of—reach—

"Do you know what a rainbow is?"

"Of course."

"UV, ultraviolet light, is the color of the rainbow that's right next to violet, on the other side from blue."

"You mean red?"

"No, I do not mean red. Think of a spring—you do know what a spring is, don't you?"

"Like one of those spinky things Dad has that you can stretch them out and tumble them down the stairs?"

"Spiral shaped?"

"Yeah."

"That's a Slinky, Ronald. Light is like a Slinky. Green light is a Slinky stretched out so far. Yellow light is the same Slinky stretched a bit farther. Orange is a bit farther, red is a bit farther than that, and infrared is a bit farther than that. Infrared light is also known as heat, because it's stretched so far that you can't see it anymore, you see. Blue light isn't stretched quite so far as green light, violet isn't quite so far as blue—"

Speaking of blue light, her hands were glowing again, with the glow surrounding the two little balls of light. This was probably a good thing. Both balls were bright again. They'd been fading.

"—and ultraviolet isn't quite so far as violet. And you can't see ultraviolet either. If you could, you wouldn't ever get sunburned on cloudy days, because you'd see the light coming through the clouds and you'd remember to put on sunscreen."

"So Alex got sunburned because Danger threw ultraviolet light at him?" Dad asked. "And she saw purple because purple's so close to ultraviolet?"

"Yes, exactly," Hermione answered.

"And the sun makes ultraviolet light the same as it makes the other colors."

"Of course."

"And ultraviolet light goes through clouds even though the other colors don't."

"Yes."

"And a dementor evaporated when Danger threw purple and ultraviolet light at it."

"Apparently."

"_That_, ladies and gentlemen, would be why dementors don't go outside in the daytime," Dad said triumphantly. "Ultraviolet light kills them. I knew they didn't like sunlight, but that didn't explain why they don't go out on cloudy days either—but since ultraviolet sunburns people and people still get sunburns when it's cloudy, then there must be enough ultraviolet coming through the clouds to hurt dementors."

"Do you know, I think that is the first and only theory I have ever heard regarding killing dementors," Remus said thoughtfully.

"Okay, we've figured out how the dementor died," Mama said. "Now how is it that Danger killed it?"

"Think maybe it had something to do with it _eating_ my son's _soul_?" Danger asked bitterly.

Eating it—but it'd disappeared almost as soon as it Kissed Alex—it couldn't have had nearly enough time to eat Alex's soul, or even to chew it up much, just to get it all slimy with dementor spit—like the little blue and red balls had been all slimy—

Meghan gasped. _Of course!_

She looked down at the balls again. _The souls. Harry's and Alex's souls._ Blue seemed very Alex somehow, the red was the right shade for Harry, and there hadn't been a single word out of Harry yet..._now how do I get the souls back in the right places?_...well, if the dementor pulled the soul _out_ through the mouth, it made sense that it would go back _in_ through the mouth...

Meghan scooted over to the Granger-Lupin quartet and gave Danger a hug. Danger needed it, no question, but more to the point, that put Meghan's left hand where it could easily drop the little blue ball into Alex's mouth.

Alex stirred and groaned. Everyone went dead still.

"Ow," Alex whispered.

"_Alex!_"

"Ow, Mum—Dad—you're squashing me—ow ow ow—"

"Are you all right?" Danger asked anxiously. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got cooked, chewed up, and spat out."

"Do you mean that literally or metaphorically?" Remus asked blandly.

Meghan grinned and popped the red ball into her own mouth.

An explosion of cinnamon scent—an indescribable sensation—a faint red haze over everything in sight—

_(Well, that certainly took long enough,)_ Harry commented. _(Think maybe you can be a bit longer about figuring things out next time we need you to solve something quickly?)_ The red haze disappeared, flitting over to envelop Ginny.

_(Well excuse me,)_ Meghan thought indignantly in Harry's general direction.

"_How_?" Ginny demanded. "Meghan, what did you _do_?"

"Figured something out," Meghan answered, bouncing a little. She explained her revelation.

"Fascinating," Remus murmured.

"And how, exactly, did the dementor disappear?" Alex asked, which of course meant the whole explanation about ultraviolet light had to be repeated. Not all of it, though, as Alex, unlike Ron, was familiar with the idea already.

"I wonder could we do that again?" Ron said, apparently thinking aloud.

"At the moment I'm more interested in how I did it in the first place," Danger said.

"Well, what it sounds like to _me_ is accidental magic," Dad said. "Combined with a healthy dose of maternal instinct, because it happened to manifest as exactly what you needed to save your son."

"Magic?" Danger repeated. "Me? That's impossible."

Remus put his wand in her hand, turned her wrist to point the wand in a direction where people weren't, and let go. Danger gave the wand a tentative wave. Alex's sunburned leg got showered with golden sparks.

"Ow ow ow!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Congratulations, Mrs. Granger-Lupin, you're a witch," Dad said, laughing.

"Which is _still_ impossible," Danger snapped back.

"I heard a theory once," Remus said, "that some people have latent magic, magic that isn't active and can't be detected, so they go through their lives as Muggles. No one ever knows, unless they experience some kind of shock that brings out the magic in them. And thinking you'd just seen your son go through something worse than death would probably do it."

"I'm a witch," Danger repeated, sounding amazed. She took a deep breath, then another, then looked around the room. "I want a shot at one of those Horcrux things."

Mama, Dad, and Remus looked at each other. "You think you can learn Reducto in a day or two?" Dad asked. "I don't think anyone's ever gotten the hang of it without at least four full years of magical training at Hogwarts..."

"The point's not so much to destroy them, I don't think," Danger answered. "As I understand it, the point's to get rid of the soul bits, the same as what happens to our souls when we die, so we're trying to _kill_ the Horcruxes, not destroy them. Burning works, so does blasting it to bits, but bashing it in will probably work just as well."

"True," Dad said after a pause.

Meghan yawned.

"Kids, back to bed," Mama ordered.

"But I wanna hear this," Meghan said, not quite whining.

"You should have been asleep for the past hour. Ron is asleep on his feet, look—" He was at that; he was leaning against the wall and quietly snoring. "Bed, girls. I'll get Ron back upstairs myself."

Meghan heaved a sigh, got up, and walked her wobbly way (willing to admit it or not, she was tired) to the stairs.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	14. Our Tears are Not Yet Brewed

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle. (And another dedication to Starry. I'm going to have to figure some way to stop falling apart laughing. The duct-tape mummy thing is not a good look for me.)

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 14: Our Tears are Not Yet Brewed

Aletha returned from depositing a protesting Ron (he'd woken up halfway up the stairs) in the guest room bed to discover a snoring Alex sprawled across her kitchen table and three adults rummaging through various of her kitchen cabinets. "Do I want to know?" she asked.

Remus looked up. "Oh, there you are. It occurred to me that Alex might be more comfortable asleep and covered in that burn-healing lotion you make. Do you happen to have any on hand, or are we on a fools' quest?"

Aletha glanced down at her hands, which still bore the marks of her most recent attempt at cooking spaghetti. Her cooking skills had vastly improved in the past twelve years, out of necessity, but not so far that she could keep hot tomato sauce from splattering, which it inevitably did if she was fool enough to wear something light in color while heating it. "No, I haven't any on hand at all. _Accio_ burn salve."

A cabinet door flew open, and a blue jar zoomed past Sirius's head. He clapped a hand to that ear. "Oy, watch it, woman!"

"I'm sure you deserved that for something or other." Aletha set the jar on the table with a clack and flicked a spell onto Alex's shoulder, then a second along his side, wondering how well the shirt had sheltered him from Danger's pyrotechnics display. The cloth parted neatly, and Aletha tugged it off over the other arm. "Oh, good, he's barely burnt at all under the shirt. That means we only have to goo up his face, arms, and legs." She hit the shirt with another spell, restoring it to its precut state, then banished it to the counter, set down the wand, and started unscrewing the lid of the jar.

"What's in this cabinet, anyway?" Sirius wondered, again tugging fruitlessly at the edge of the door.

"Things Meghan shouldn't touch," Aletha answered, scooping some of the pastel green lotion out of the jar. "Alcohol and such. Come give me a hand with this." She started rubbing the lotion onto Alex's nearer arm.

"You shouldn't have said that," Remus commented, leaning over Alex to get a dollop of lotion. "Now he's going to alternate between staring wistfully at the cabinet and giving you puppy-dog eyes until you concede defeat and tell him how to get at the firewhiskey."

"Who says I've got firewhiskey?"

Danger laughed, coming over to help with the gooing up, though her hands, Aletha noticed, were shaking as much as her voice. "Remus, obviously."

A whining sound came from Sirius's direction. Aletha looked up. Sure enough, there was a big black dog sitting next to the refrigerator, giving her puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh, for God's sake," Aletha muttered. She picked up her wand with her ungooey left hand, marched over to the cabinet, and tapped the door, saying "_In vino veritas._" The locking spell released with an audible pop. "One shot," she ordered Sirius. "No more. You'll have to pour your own, though. You're forbidden to be drunk while Horcrux-hunting."

"Ah, yes, that." Sirius straightened up, human again, and snagged Aletha for a quick kiss.

"Behold our trophy," Remus said, using his wand to make something gold fly out of his pocket and drape itself over Danger's head.

Danger frowned down at the tarnished oval that was all she could likely see of the necklace. "Are you sure this thing's safe to wear?"

"Positive," Sirius said grimly, resealing the firewhiskey bottle. "Just ask Harry. Speaking of—" He raised his shot glass, which was brimming with amber liquid. "Here's to getting him back safe."

_(I am perfectly safe,)_ Harry's voice said, a bit indignantly. _(I'd love to see what can hurt me when I can just—)_ Aletha blinked. Had she just seen something red and child-shaped leap from Sirius to Danger? _(—slip away.)_

"Yeah, but it'll be damned hard to duck you in the lake like that," Sirius retorted, and poured the contents of his glass down his throat. "Aah-yaah!"

Everyone started snickering, if not laughing outright. The look on Sirius's face when he'd realized he was exhaling neon pink flame was something Aletha knew she'd treasure forever.

Remus twisted his wrist, sending a spray of equally pink sparks to land in the sink, and put down his now lotion-covered wand with a small smirk. Aletha heaved a sigh—she'd hoped they'd outgrown such sophomoric (but admittedly funny) tricks as setting firewhiskey breath afire, but evidently not—and continued smearing lotion on Alex's tomato-colored skin.

_(I believe someone wanted to ask me something?)_ Harry asked when all the laughing fits were done and Sirius's dragon breath was extinguished.

"You're sure this locket's not a Horcrux?" Danger asked, glancing down at it again. "It's giving me the creeps for some reason..." She blinked, and her brown eyes were suddenly filled with blue. "Oh, that might do it."

"Hm?" Aletha asked.

"Remus just explained what it was swimming in. This is going to take some getting used to..." Danger looked at Remus. "Don't you dare die tonight or tomorrow. My sanity won't be able to take it." She looked back at Alex and took another dollop of burn salve to apply to her son's face. "Frankly I'm surprised I'm not in the midst of a nervous breakdown."

Remus leaned over to kiss Danger's cheek, but she turned her head, so he got her lips instead. Aletha turned all her attention to rubbing lotion into the back of Alex's hand, but had to pause, because for a minute all she could see was an image of a young face with messy black hair and two hands over his eyes. _(Don't like watching people kissing?)_ she deliberately thought 'loudly'. _(Get used to it—you'll be seeing it a lot more once everything's settled and you're living here with Meghan, Sirius, and me.)_

Now all she could see was a pair of green eyes doing loop-de-loops.

_(Oh, you may want to confiscate the firewhiskey bottle,)_ Harry said as the picture faded away. _(Not that I can blame him for wanting another drink. It can't possibly taste worse than the green stuff he had his face in a minute ago...)_

The words 'green stuff', interestingly, were accompanied by a minor flood of related information, which Aletha tucked away to consider later, should she care to, before looking at Sirius, who did indeed have a second shot half-poured. Aletha retrieved her wand left-handed and took careful aim at the bottle, then nailed it with a spell to seal it closed, both tasks that would be significantly easier were she using her usual hand. Odd, really, how much harder spellcasting was with one's off hand—it wasn't just the difficulties with fine motor control, either, because the problem was equally evident with spells where the wand tip was touching the object to be spelled—

"Hey!"

"I told you one shot," Aletha reminded Sirius. "You might as well drink what you've got, but put the bottle back first."

Sirius grumbled, but returned the bottle to the cabinet, which sealed itself closed with a squelch, and downed his firewhiskey. "Oh, that tastes good."

"Weren't we talking about the locket?" Danger wondered.

_(This locket—)_ An image of the one Danger wore swam before Aletha's eyes. _(—or this one?)_ The second one was clearly bigger than the first one and had a snakelike marking that Danger's lacked. _(The snake one's the Horcrux.)_

"So you were wrong about where to find it?" Danger asked quietly.

_(Oh, no, that fountain is exactly where Voldemort put that Horcrux thirty-odd years ago,)_ Harry snapped back. _(I watched that memory a half dozen times to be sure. Trouble is, sometime between then and now, someone else got in that cave and swapped lockets—it wasn't Voldemort, or anyone he sent, because I'd **know** if he knew that Horcrux was anywhere but that cave. And now the locket is God alone knows where, and I haven't a f—faint idea where to find it—)_

"Nice save," Aletha said under her breath. She knew perfectly well, given Harry's comment earlier in the evening, what he'd almost said, and from whom he'd learned it—and there was this little trick Andy Tonks had told her about in her last letter—

_(—and if whoever took it didn't kill it, and we can't find it to kill it, then—)_

There was an odd tone to all this...

"Are you _crying_?" Sirius asked.

_(No!)_

"Sirius, let him be," Aletha ordered. She had no doubt that the only reason Harry wasn't crying was that he presently lacked tear ducts, but she was also well acquainted with teenage pride. Drawing attention to the fact that he was as good as crying would accomplish absolutely squat.

"God _d_—" Suddenly nothing was coming out of Sirius's mouth but cerulean haze.

_(What did you do to him?)_ Harry asked, sounding as if he was having a laughing fit, rather than a crying jag. A vast improvement, Aletha thought. _(Is he swearing the—air—blue—oh. **Oh**.)_

"Yes, oh. Little trick I learned recently. By the way, Sirius," Aletha added with a trace of malice aforethought, "that won't go away till you've gone a few minutes without even _thinking_ a swear word—and every time you do say a swear word, it'll come back, at least till the hex wears off. Not sure on the time frame, since I don't think I hit you square on, but it'll be a while..."

'While' was here defined in fractional hours, not collections of hours, but there was no harm in letting him think the hex would take rather longer to go away than the half-hour maximum Aletha estimated.

"I think he's done," Remus said, turning Alex's limp arm this way and that. Aletha took a look and saw he was right. Remus and Danger had been working faster than Aletha'd realized, apparently. In any case, everywhere Danger had managed to burn Alex was now coated in burn salve, except for the first places it had gone on, where the salve had already soaked in. No point in putting more on, though, because it wouldn't accomplish much of anything beyond making sure whatever he slept on needed a degreasing tomorrow, and the jar was three-quarters empty in any case.

_(In that case, why don't you two—)_ This clearly referred to Danger and to Aletha herself. _(—get him to bed, and you two—)_ Equally clearly Sirius and Remus. _(—go see if there's actually anything in Little Hangleton.)_

_(Patience is a virtue, Harry,)_ Aletha thought 'aloud'.

_(Not one I particularly care to acquire, at least not till this is over.)_

"Should I be hoping you find it and need to defuse it, or you don't find it because someone already defused it?" Danger wondered aloud.

_(I'd feel better if I got to watch it die,)_ Harry answered. _(Besides, I want to get a good look at the thing **before** it dies, to see what it looks like to me now—I'm pretty sure it'll have an icky green color to it, like you're blue, Letha, and Sirius, you're brown—but I can't be positive, because **some**one incinerated the first Horcrux before I ever saw it.)_

"I'd never have been able to get it out of that room, you realize," Aletha pointed out, going over to the sink. "I only got Lily and James's wands because you've a legitimate claim to them." She knocked the faucet handle with her wrist and stuck her hands under the water.

_(Not my point.)_

"I know it's not. And it wasn't first, it was second, you got the diary. Maybe third, the locket..."

_(Not helping.)_

"Wouldn't the Horcruxes all be connected to him the same way you say you are?" Danger asked, standing in line for the sink. "Couldn't you jump around between them the same way you're jumping between us?"

_(What good would it do me?)_ Harry asked. _(None of them have eyes, and the only one with something like a brain already got shishkabobed on a snake fang, so all I could find out from something like that is which way I should look if I was standing where Voldemort is and I wanted to be looking straight towards a Horcrux. That and an idea of about how far from him to them. And since I don't know where he is, knowing which way and how far won't help at all. Oh, did I mention I didn't bother finding out anything more about where any of them are beyond what to Apparate to if you want to get there? And I don't think I'd be able to tell the link to one Horcrux from the link to another.)_

"Good points, all," Aletha acknowledged, stepping out of Danger's way and picking up a dishtowel to dry her hands. "Remus, do you happen to recall the Sobering Charm better than I do? I really don't want you coming back to tell me my fiancé got blown up because he did something stupid that he probably wouldn't have done if he hadn't had a glass and a half of firewhiskey..."

Remus chuckled. "I might at that."

xXxXx

"This is it?" Sirius asked. "Lord High-and-Mighty There's-No-One-On-Earth-Better-Than-Me hid one of his treasures _here?_"

It did not, Remus had to admit, have anything like the aura of mystery that the cave had. Of course, that might just be a side effect of standing under starry skies, the world illuminated by a Lumos charm, rather than under a roof of rock, the world illuminated by a poisoned Fountain of Knowledge.

_(It's here,)_ Harry said, an excited note in his voice. _(It's definitely here. There's something green about ten feet from you. It's exactly the right shape and shade. That's got to be it.)_

"What now?" Remus asked, glancing around what could once, sixty or seventy years ago, charitably have been called a cottage of the fixer-upper variety. Now it was just a wreck. His eyes slid around the ball of light in midair and over the slight blur of the background that was Sirius under Disillusionment (two full-grown adults had difficulty fitting under an Invisibility Cloak designed for one, and Remus's rock had smashed Sirius's scissors), and the thought flitted across his mind that it was a very good thing this place was, according to Harry, a mile or so from the nearest habitation. It wouldn't be good if someone came by and saw the Lumos.

_(We shouldn't just blow it up or whatever—there's a curse on it that triggers when it's destroyed and kills the destroyer in nasty ways,)_ Harry informed them.

"Hand grenade?" Remus wondered aloud. "Put it next to the thing, Accio the pin from twenty feet, Apparate out?"

"What's a hand grenade?"

Remus couldn't speak for laughing—or for the hands covering his mouth to muffle the laughing. Fortunately, Harry was not so afflicted. _(Muggle toy. Pull pin, wait five seconds, boom. And that would destroy the ring nicely, I'm sure, but I **don't** know what it would do to the curse, and I don't want to find out. I doubt it'd be anything as simple as the curse just going away because it couldn't find any of Voldemort's enemies to kill. Meghan had an idea, though—)_

"When?" Sirius asked.

_(While you four were chatting in the kitchen. You didn't actually expect them to go to sleep, did you? I really want to see Hermione's face when she wakes up and realizes she spent tonight first crying on Ron's shoulder, then sleeping on Ron's shoulder—this shouldn't be funny, it really shouldn't be, but I can't help laughing—)_

"I'd rather like to see that myself, actually," Remus commented, thinking of Hermione's vehement denials in dreams circa mid-July—only four weeks ago, but the last few days seemed like ages—that she was fond of either of her incompletely identified male friends in any way beyond the purely platonic. "And Meghan's idea was..."

_(Well, Voldemort's got to eat too, right? And weeds are the enemy of all growing foods and anyone who eats them, aren't they? So if it happens that any of the plants right around here are a kind that kills edible plants, then we can—I think—I **hope**—point the curse at those plants, and it'll be doing its job of killing enemies of Voldemort, and it won't bother us at all. And we'll be doing the people in this area a favor into the bargain.)_

"Girl's got brains," Sirius said, sounding impressed.

"Good to know she takes after Aletha in that department," Remus remarked, taking a look of what the wand light showed him of the local flora.

"Yeah, it—hey!"

Remus doubled over laughing. A minute or two later, when he could breathe again, he pulled out his own wand, pushed just its tip outside the cloak, and murmured "_Lumos_." He shone the light around, then nodded in satisfaction. "These are a royal pain for gardeners. If we can direct that curse to this kind of plant—" He indicated the specific variety with a blue spark. "—we're good to go. Rock-paper-scissors you for who destroys it and who puts up a shield charm on us both just in case," he added, extinguishing his wand and returning it to his pocket to free his hands.

Five seconds later, Remus was grumbling and Sirius was cheering as quietly as he could. "So where exactly is this Horcrux?" Sirius asked.

_(About ten feet thataway—down some—a foot left—couple inches forward—your wand tip's six inches above it.)_

"Any concealment charm that doesn't conceal the shadow as well is a rather poor concealment charm," Remus observed, looking at the pattern of black.

"You're not the one who spent the last two minutes fighting a compulsion to look somewhere else," Sirius pointed out. "Anywhere else. Da—" Blue haze.

_("Damn strong compulsion," he says. I wouldn't know how strong it is, but I had to keep kicking him so he'd keep looking where I was pointing.)_

"That translates to 'damn strong compulsion', Harry," Remus said.

_(If you say so. And the concealment charm's fifty years old, just about. He meant to go back ten or eleven years ago and give it a boost like he'd been doing every few years, but circumstances intervened.)_

Remus laughed, then stepped carefully around the Horcrux and started glancing over the nearest plants. "Ah. Here." He spelled that one to stretch as far as it could manage towards the concealed ring, then moved around behind Sirius, out of the line of fire, and thought the incantation for the strongest shield charm he knew. "Ready when you are."

"Five—four—three—two—one—_Avada Kedavra_."

Green light leapt from Sirius's wand to the ring. Something black and smoky boiled up from where the two met.

_(That's it—)_

A strange hissing filled the air. Coming from right in front of him, Remus realized—

The black smoky thing, which had a snakelike appearance, hissed back and lunged for Sirius, but more of the first hissing stopped it cold, and more still sent it diving for the plant Remus had positioned, which withered away as the smoke-snake disappeared into it.

_(Phew.)_

Remus heaved a sigh of relief as well.

"Was that me?" Sirius asked.

"Of course it was you, who else would it be?"

_(He means the hissing, and actually that was me,)_ Harry said, though the last few words sounded as if they almost had to be dragged out of him. _(I'm a Parselmouth. It seems I can speak through you, which is good, because the curse thinks I'm Voldemort because I'm a Parselmouth—oh, and I have no clue how we'd get the next Horcrux without being able to speak Parseltongue to its hidey hole.)_

"And you only just mentioned this obstacle because..." Remus trailed off.

_(One crisis at a time, please, and since I **can** speak Parseltongue through you, this isn't a crisis after all.)_

"Well, that's reassuring," Sirius commented.

_(Good. This Horcrux is really most sincerely dead, by the way. There's other magic on it, but nothing that'll hurt you, I think.)_

"Good. _Reducto_."

"Well, if you can do gratuitous damage, so can I," Remus decided, glad he hadn't let his shield charm fall. Some of the flying ring bits might have hurt, had they hit. "Go back to Crozer Street and talk to Danger and Letha, you two, I'll catch up once I've burned this place down."

_(Better idea,)_ said a tart female voice in his head. _(You tell me all about this, they watch while you light it up, you all come back at once so we can tell you what we just found.)_

Remus winced._ (Danger, ow...)_ He'd forgotten all about the connection between them.

_(It's existed for all of what, an hour and a half?)_ Harry pointed out.

_(True.)_ Remus set the past several minutes to play through Danger's mind on fast-forward. "Sirius, get out of the way." Once he'd obeyed: "_Incendio_." _Foosh._ "_Aguamenti! Aguamenti! Aguamenti!_"

Sirius, of course, was laughing.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	15. Thy Soul's Flight

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 15: Thy Soul's Flight

"Let me get this straight," Danger said the moment her husband appeared in the kitchen. "You torched that cottage, and then you were surprised when it all went up in flames?"

"Is it my fault the place was dryer than I thought it was?" Remus asked, seating himself next to Danger. "Sirius, _don't_ laugh..."

"Why not?"

Aletha took two steps toward him, one hand raised threateningly.

"That's a good reason," Sirius decided, hastily composing his face.

Danger clapped a hand over her mouth. The roller coaster she was on was presently somewhere near a summit, judging by how close she was to hysterical laughter. _Sight better than hysterical tears, anyway._

_(Can't deny that,)_ Remus said in her mind. Aloud, he continued, "Danger, you said you two found something?"

Danger picked up the locket on the table and let it dangle from her hand. "You didn't look too closely at this, did you?"

_(Should we have?)_ Harry asked. _(It's not the Horcrux, so I guess I didn't think it was important, and neither did they—wait a minute—)_

"Why," Remus asked slowly, the look on his face suggesting he was mid-epiphany, "was there anything left there at all?" He paused, probably to collect his thoughts. "Voldemort would likely know on sight that that locket is not his Horcrux, and I can't imagine he'd be any less displeased with a substitution than with simple theft...which would be easier on the thief, probably, since he or she would be without our foreknowledge that the Horcrux in that particular location was the locket...I would have expected the cup there, myself, and put the locket where the cup is..."

_(Wouldn't work,)_ Harry pointed out. _(The spells on the Birdbath of Doom can't tell the difference between a finger attached to a hand holding a cup and a finger that is simply near a cup. And that basin is only about four inches deep. The cup is about six inches tall. Four on its side. Which is plenty big enough for you to just grab it and go. The locket's small enough that you have to empty the whole bowl to get at it, if you don't do something dumb like sticking your face in the stuff.)_

"I can think of lots of loopholes in that," Danger observed. "Find a big cup, dunk it with one hand, stick the other hand in next to the cup, move around till you find the locket, grab it, pull it out. Or scoop the locket out with the cup. Or grab the locket chain with a finger of the hand holding the cup. Probably a half dozen more ways around those spells."

"Tip over the birdbath?" Aletha suggested.

_(These spells were designed by the same genius who was so worried about getting hurt by a one-year-old that he didn't even think to worry about the kid's twenty-something fully-trained-witch mother,)_ Harry reminded them. _(I don't think he knows what 'common sense' means.)_

Danger's mental equilibrium tipped from 'mostly calm' to 'laughing hysterically'.

"None of which," Remus said once everyone had regained self-control, "explains why there was anything there for us to find."

_(I'm drawing a blank,)_ Harry admitted. _(Best thing I can think of is to fool him if he ever came to inspect, but that would only work if he didn't do more than glance at the locket, and it doesn't make any sense that he'd go to all that trouble to get to it and not bother looking at it properly...)_

"Unless whoever left this one—" Sirius took it from Danger's hand. "—meant it to be found? Why they would, I can't imagine..."

_Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep._

Aletha turned, thumped the timer to silence the beeping, and transferred a handful of chopped plant material from the cutting board on the counter to the cauldron sitting on the lit burner. "Burn salve," she explained, though she couldn't possibly have seen Sirius's quizzical look. "Don't usually need so much at once." She added another handful to the cauldron, then picked up a wooden spoon to mix it in. "And Alex is going to need to be doused in this a couple times a day for the next week. Burns are like that."

_Wonder why I didn't get burned too..._

_(Magic's a wonderful thing, love,)_ Remus said. _(Probably your subconscious acted to protect you just as it acted to protect Alex. You couldn't shield him from your light show without keeping it from getting to the dementor, and he wasn't in a position to do anything to protect himself.)_

_(That makes sense,)_ Danger decided.

"Sending some kind of message," Remus said aloud. "Not one Voldemort would care to hear, else the messenger wouldn't be an inanimate object, and nothing urgent, because who knows when he'll visit that cave next?"

"Somebody give that man a cigar," Aletha said without turning from the cauldron. "He's figured it out."

"We took the easy way to find out, though," Danger added, grinning. "We opened the locket."

"Actually, I threw it across the room," Aletha clarified. "Popped it right open, and look what we found inside..."

"Look at what?" Sirius asked.

"The inside of the locket," Aletha said in a tone of 'isn't that obvious'.

Sirius frowned at the locket in his hand, then flicked the catch. A folded bit of parchment fell out, as Danger knew would happen, having replaced it there herself expressly so that the gentlemen would find it. Remus took the note and unfolded it, then smoothed it out, laying it on the table so all three could see what it said.

_To the Dark Lord:  
I know I shall be dead long before you read this  
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.  
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.  
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,  
you will be mortal once more.  
R. A. B._

"Something wrong, Sirius?" Remus asked, giving him a concerned look.

Sirius did look rather thunderstruck. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally managed to say, "That's my brother's handwriting."

"Brother?" Aletha asked, sitting down at the table. "Slytherin, two years below us, died a couple weeks after your father?"

"Yeah. Him. Regulus Arcturus Black. And equally to the point, considering the salutation, since I don't know of anyone who wasn't at least a sympathizer who referred to Baldimort—" Pause for snickers. "—as the Dark Lord: my brother the Death Eater."

_(Death Eater?)_ Harry asked. _(You two put that in your letters, but nobody's explained the term...)_

"Follower of Voldemort's," Remus informed him.

_(Ah. Why, then, was Sirius's brother one?)_

"I'm the black sheep of the family," Sirius explained, leaning his chair back on two legs. "Or white sheep, depending on how you look at it. The rest of my family, everyone who didn't get disowned, are obsessed with blood purity and Dark magic, and always have been. Not exactly a big step from that to swearing fealty to a powerful Dark wizard who plans to lead the purebloods of Europe to conquer the world."

"Purebloods of Europe, unite!" Danger half-shouted, grinning. "You have nothing to lose but your sanity!"

Remus and Aletha both chuckled. Sirius shrugged. "Whatever. Thing is, I never believed that Dark magic's better than other magic. Dark magic tends to hurt people, and the person it generally hurts most is the person who uses it. I've never figured out how anyone can think that's the plus side, but that was certainly Mum's view of the matter."

Aletha laid a hand on Sirius' arm, and he covered it with his own, smiling ruefully at her. "I _did_ buy the pureblood superiority deal, because I didn't know anyone who wasn't pureblood to compare to, but that little misconception died a quick death my first week at Hogwarts. This redheaded girl hexed my hands backwards, and of course I had to ask who she was. I'd had all the pureblood surnames drilled into my head backwards and forwards, so I knew she couldn't be pureblood, because there wasn't a pureblood family named Evans—but she'd managed a hex I couldn't do, and had to ask James to help me get off."

"What did you do to make Lily hex you?" Aletha asked.

"Frog in her bag, I think. She never did teach me that hex. Used it on me a few more times, though."

_(I'd love to hear all these stories, but some other time, all right? About your brother...)_

"Subtlety is clearly not your strong suit, Harry," Remus commented.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "Anyway, if Regulus ever went through an enlightening experience such as Lily hexing him, I never heard about it and it didn't enlighten him much. I know he joined the Death Eaters right out of school. Maybe earlier, but it can't have been much more than a year earlier because he wouldn't be much good to them before he learned to Apparate. And then, four months after he left Hogwarts, he was dead. The way I heard it, he got in so deep, panicked about what he was being asked to do, protested, and was summarily executed."

"Looking at this, though," Aletha said, tapping the parchment, "assuming it was he who wrote this, it didn't happen quite like that."

_(I bet I know how it did happen,)_ Harry said. _(At some point, he found out about Voldemort's Horcruxes—no, Horcrux singular, it doesn't look like he knew there was more than one—and if he didn't know what it takes to make one, then he wouldn't have cared. From what Hagrid said when he was telling me about Voldemort, lots of people knew he was trying to make himself immortal, and I don't think many people would think immortality is bad in itself.)_

"Depends on how many books I could get my hands on," Danger muttered.

Harry either didn't hear this or ignored it. _(But then Sirius's dad died, and Regulus got mad, and decided to hit back, and stole the Horcrux and maybe destroyed it. But he was still mad, and he said something he shouldn't have said, and Voldemort killed him for saying it.)_

"I can see that," said Remus. "If I remember Regulus correctly, he sometimes had trouble keeping from shooting off his mouth."

"Sometimes?" Sirius said skeptically. "Any ideas, Harry? You're closest to the source, as it were. Not that I want you to go looking..."

_(Don't worry, I'm not about to. And I have no idea. It might have had something to do with Regulus not wanting to kill people, but you said he was one of the pureblood snobs, and if Regulus was nosy enough to find out about the Horcrux, then I bet he was nosy enough to find out that Voldemort isn't the pureblood he must've been pretending he was. And since the only reason **I** found out Voldemort's a halfblood is because he was expecting to kill me right after, I can't imagine he'd be all that happy if he found out other people knew.)_

Dead silence, while everyone thought about that.

"That makes sense," Sirius said finally. "That makes a lot of sense."

"What did he do with the Horcrux after he got it, though?" Aletha asked.

_(Well, if we knew **that**...)_

"Harry, do you know what a rhetorical question is?"

_(Yes.)_

"For the record, that was a rhetorical question."

_(So?)_

Aletha thumped her head on the table.

"Whatever he did, I doubt it involved destroying the locket," Sirius said. "He wouldn't want to damage anything that old and valuable if he could avoid it."

Aletha lifted her head. "It would match your family's décor perfectly, if Harry's showing it to us accurately," she said. "With Slytherin's mark on it. You used to tell me, everything in your family house that could be a snake, was a snake—"

_Thud._ The legs of Sirius's chair hit the floor.

"Family house," he repeated. "That's where it is. Letha, you're a genius." He bent down to kiss her, then straightened up again and stood. "Harry, come on, I'm going to go rob my house..."

Danger gawked at Sirius's retreating back. _(Somebody's in a hurry.)_

_(Wouldn't you be?)_ Remus asked.

_(Well, yes...)_

"I have to work on my potion anyway," Aletha said, rising and turning the timer off two seconds before it would have started beeping again.

"I should go check on the kids," Danger added, standing to do exactly that.

Alex seemed perfectly comfortable asleep on the bed in the spare room, which, it was belatedly occurring to her, couldn't actually be intended to be a bedroom, being without a window. Ginny and Meghan were curled up back to back on a blanket on the floor of the master bedroom, evidently having vacated the bed in favor of Ron and Hermione. _I really should haul him back to the other room..._

_(Don't bother. For one, they look so cute together—)_

_(How would you know, Remus? You haven't been up here.)_

_(Apparently this connection allows me to see through your eyes, as well as sharing thoughts and memories and whatever else.)_

_(Tapping into my optic nerve the way Harry does?)_ Danger wondered. _(Hm...)_ She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the new-yet-familiar feeling of pepper-scented wind in the back of her mind, and was rewarded with a view of Aletha scooping green salve from her cauldron into the blue jar. _(Ha, I can do it too.)_

_(Only makes sense that this should be bidirectional. It'd hardly be fair otherwise.)_

_(True.)_ Danger blinked, and was seeing Aletha's bedroom again. _(And they do look cute together.)_

_(Didn't I just tell you that? And Hermione obviously needs someone to hold on to, and it seems Ron's been elected. I'm honestly surprised she hasn't had a screaming hysterical fit, or anything of that sort, the number of shocks she's had in the past couple days. For that matter, I'm honestly surprised you aren't in the midst of a screaming hysterical fit either.)_

_(All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,)_ Danger reminded him. _(Maybe we're just in a plot-driven play, and us reacting like human beings would get in the way of the plot.)_

Laughter, both mental over the connection and audible from downstairs. _(If that's the case, the playwright's a few stars short of a constellation.)_

_(Hey, that's my god you're insulting there!)_ Danger snapped back in mock offense, and dashed down the stairs to the kitchen, so she wouldn't wake the kids with her laughter.

_(Three cheers for Sirius!)_ yelled Harry's mental voice just as Danger's laughter was receding. _(He found it! Hip hip—)_

"Hurrah!" chorused Danger, Remus, and Aletha.

_(Hip hip—)_

"Hurrah!"

_(Hip hip—)_

"Hurrah!"

Sirius came charging into the kitchen, waving something gold on a chain. "In my parents' drawing room," he explained. "Probably prominently displayed. I wouldn't know, I was just sticking my wand in every door and saying Accio Locket. But here it is, it looks right, Harry says it's definitely the Horcrux—"

_(Apparently Regulus never killed this thing after all,)_ Harry told them. _(Danger, do you want to do the honors?)_

"Damn right I do. Anyone got a sledgehammer?"

xXxXx

_(What are you still doing awake?)_

_(Listening to you talk to them,)_ Ginny answered. _(It's really weird only hearing one of the five sides of the conversation.)_

_(Funny, I didn't think I was being loud enough for everyone to hear me...)_

Ginny blinked, and the dark shapes of Ms. Letha's room were replaced with the gray-black-green stone of the Chamber of Secrets. "Why here?" she asked aloud.

"Probably because this is what you've been thinking of all day," answered his oh-so-familiar voice. She turned to see Harry regarding his own hands with envy. "Apparently in dreams I'm allowed to have my body back. Anyway, you should be counting your blessings. No Tom and no basilisk."

Ginny shivered. "True."

"I don't like this," Harry murmured, so quiet she almost didn't catch it. "I don't _like_ this."

"You're scared," Ginny said softly.

Harry jerked and stared at her. "I'm not."

"You are," Ginny repeated. "You might be fooling everyone else, but you're not fooling me."

"Yes," Harry snapped. "Yes, I'm scared. Happy now?"

Ginny stepped forward. Feeling greatly daring and certain her face was a brilliant crimson, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me."

"One Horcrux left, and I don't know what'll happen when we deal with it—he doesn't know whether anything happens when someone's last Horcrux is destroyed either—could be it'll drag him with it to hell, could be it'll just get him mad as blazes at you—I don't want you hurt, Ginny, any of you—and I don't know, _nobody_ knows how we're going to kill him if taking out the cup doesn't do it, and I don't think it will, and I can't think of any way to kill him that won't kill me—Hermione's hurting enough, she doesn't need to lose me too—"

Ginny took another step, slid her arm around his waist, and squeezed. He didn't seem to notice.

"—oh, I could probably stick around a while, the way I've been doing, but I have a horrible suspicion I'm possessing you the way he was possessing Quirrell—that's what _killed_ Quirrell, Ginny, him being possessed the way he was—I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt any of you, but I don't know how to stay like this and not end up hurting you, I don't know how long before I manage to kill you, I don't know how to stop without dying, but that'll just hurt you more—I'm flying blind in a forest, I know there's trees but I can't see them, and sooner or later I'm going to crash into something and kill somebody—that's if I don't die of fright—"

"Harry," Ginny said firmly, and he swallowed and stopped. If there was ever a day that proved she was a Gryffindor, she thought randomly, this was it. "I remember when someone a lot like you faced off against a giant snake with poison fangs and killer eyes, and won. If he could win that, he can win this."

He snorted. "That time I had help from a bird with a magic voice and magic tears, I had a sharp pointy stick to poke at it with, I had an idea of how not to get killed, and I had more luck than I want to think about. _We've_ had more luck than I want to think about during this whole escapade. Sooner or later that luck's going to run out, and I have a nasty feeling that it's going to be sooner."

"You've got help," Ginny pointed out. "You've got us. And you _do_ have an idea of how not to die. You said it yourself earlier. Just jump to someone else. And we don't _need_ good luck—just so long as He-With-The-Creepy-Mask doesn't get any."

"Ginny—"

"You can win," she repeated. "You can do this."

_I just hope **I** can do this...idiot me, volunteering for this one..._

"I'll be with you the whole way," Harry said quietly. "I know exactly how to get to that cup and how to defuse it without hurting anyone. There's nothing to worry about." He paused. "It's what could happen _after_ that that worries me."

"And I told _you_, there's nothing to worry about," Ginny said equally quietly. "You'll beat him—_we'll_ beat him—and if you don't have a body left, we can probably fix that. Be a bit harder to transfigure a tree or whatever into you than to transfigure Alex into you, but Sirius can do the one, so I'm sure he can do the other."

"Thanks." Then, so quiet she wasn't sure she'd heard it at all, "Not that it matters, I won't live that long..."

"Didn't I just say you will?" Ginny demanded, exasperated.

Harry rocked back on his heels. "Ow, my ear..."

The stone walls swirled blue and green and blurry. The world snapped back into focus, only now they were standing on grass under a blue sky, an unfamiliar house to one side and a brown-curly-haired boy to the other. "I thought you two would _never_ get to sleep," Alex remarked, then apparently noticed how they were standing. His eyes widened. "Ooh, you two _like_ each other..."

Ginny felt her face flame.

"Shut up," Harry growled, taking his arm away from Ginny's waist—_when did it get there?_

Alex's face reddened for a moment. "Er. Anyway. Welcome to home sweet dream home. Meg's inside dancing—I made it so the radio plays any song she wants it to—Neenie's up a tree out back reading, Ron's I don't know where, and I don't think we'll see any of the grownups at all."

"Neenie?" Harry asked, stepping away from Ginny. Ginny tried not to try to stop him, which was hard—she kinda liked hugging Harry.

"Hermione," Alex explained.

Harry started walking around the house, Ginny trailing behind. They stopped next to a tree with a pair of blue-sneakered feet dangling from one of the branches, then looked up. "Neenie?" Harry asked in a tone of 'are you sure you're not having me on?'.

"_Don't_ call me that!" Hermione's voice yelled from somewhere up in the leaves.

"How often have you been called 'Meanie Neenie'?" Harry wondered aloud, reaching up towards the lowest branch.

"Much too often."

Harry swung himself up into the tree. "Ron, move your hand," he ordered.

"Oh-ho!" Alex started chanting. "Ron and Neenie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—"

A book came flying out of the tree. Alex ducked and went on. "—I-N-G! First comes love—"

Rustling in the leaves. Ron followed the book onto the ground, though the book hadn't looked nearly so mad. Alex turned tail and ran, Ron in hot pursuit.

"Is he ever less annoying than usual?" Ginny asked, picking up the book and flattening out _Heidi_'s crumpled pages.

"Find a book he likes, stick his nose in it, and he doesn't say anything for an hour or two," Hermione answered. "Or park him in front of a television with a soccer game on. Best you can get."

Ginny tucked the book under her arm and reached for the branch to climb up herself, but discovered she was an inch too short. A jump got her high enough to snag the branch and walk herself up the trunk, though. "Here," she said once she was perched in the tree, handing Hermione back her book.

"You still scared?" Harry's voice said in her ear. She jumped a little—how had he gotten right next to her without her noticing?

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. At least we can be scared together."

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	16. EvenHanded Justice

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, not to mention six hundred words she gifted me (all hail St. Anne!), this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 16: Even-Handed Justice

_Pop-pop._

Aletha glanced around, double-checking that no one had seen their arrival, then stuck her key in the lock and got it half-turned before a strong hand stopped hers. "I believe there's a tradition regarding newlyweds and the threshold of their home?" Sirius asked in her ear.

"We're not married yet," Aletha pointed out.

"Who gives a damn?"

"Well, there's the little detail of—put me down you great lummox!"

"All right. You're ugly, you're stupid, and you can't do magic to save your life."

Aletha punched him in the chest, almost the only part of him she could reach while he was carrying her in a manner that most would call romantic.

"Oof." The door clicked open, and Sirius set her down inside the front room. "We're home," he called.

"Had enough smoochies for a while?" Danger asked, coming out of the hallway.

"Never," said Sirius. "But Letha convinced me we ought to make a token appearance, just to tell you we didn't blow up your house."

"My house thanks you, I'm sure."

"Any progress?" Aletha asked.

Danger shrugged. "Depends. With what?"

"Life," said Sirius expansively. "The universe. Anything."

"Ron and Alex sat side by side for five minutes at the table and didn't hit each other."

"I'll take it," said Aletha, starting for the kitchen. "Anything else?"

"Dumbledore's expecting me this afternoon," said Remus from his place at the table, where Ron was sketching on a piece of parchment. "As long as he doesn't catch on that I have several passengers, I think we ought to make it."

_(If everyone wasn't so bloody touchy about being transfigured, he wouldn't have a prayer of catching on,)_ Harry commented.

"Transfigured?" Aletha frowned. "I suppose that would make it safer—I was thinking we were going to try to work a multi-person Floo, and that could get someone hurt. If we travel in your pockets, Remus, we should be just fine."

"Excuse me?" Sirius said huffily. "I think I'm entitled not to like the idea of being turned into a quill for a few hours."

_(A few minutes, not a few hours. And Remus knows what he's doing.)_

"That's what you think," muttered Sirius.

Aletha hit first, but Danger hit harder.

xXxXx

_(You all right?) _Harry asked Ginny softly as she hugged Ron and Hermione goodbye and shook Alex's hand.

_(I will be when we're doing it. It's just—) _Ginny shivered. _(I never thought I'd get out of there alive, much less go back **in**.)_

_(No more did I, but here we go anyway.)_ Harry sent her as much strength as he could dredge up. _(Come on, let's get transfigured.)_

Remus was just tucking a quill and a half-crumpled piece of sheet music into his pockets as Ginny entered the room. _(That's not—) _Harry began.

"Indeed they are," said Danger, stroking the feathered end of the quill where it stuck out. "You two—or Ginny, rather, as I assume Harry will be riding with Remus until this is over—are going to be a spare violin string."

_(Are you?) _Ginny asked silently. _(You probably will, you should—)_

_(I'm staying with Ginny,) _Harry announced loudly.

Ginny felt her cheeks heat up. _(Thank you,) _she whispered.

_(You're welcome. It's nothing big, really...I just don't want Dumbledore to see Remus's eyes all green and think he's possessed or something...)_

Ginny smiled. _(You're babbling.)_

_(Thank you.)_

"Just hold still," Remus said, lifting his wand. "It doesn't hurt..."

xXxXx

The Granger-Lupins looked at each other when the violin string, neatly coiled, had joined the quill and the music in Remus's pocket. "So, here you are, off again," Danger said lightly, but with an undertone of steel. "Saving the world, doing fabulous magic. And here I am. Staying home with the children."

"You know where the frying pans are if any of them give you trouble," Remus said in the same tone. _(I wish you could come with us, I really do, but we can't leave them here alone, and getting a babysitter for this lot would be a problem. We couldn't have done this without you, Danger, any of it, and it's not over yet.) _He pulled her close to him and just held her for a moment. _(Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd have someone else to share those quarters with at Hogwarts.)_

"Does Dumbledore know about that?" Danger murmured, chuckling.

Remus returned the chuckle. "He's about to."

xXxXx

_(It was definitely not this blocked when we were through here last,)_ said Harry's voice as Aletha stared at the massive crumbled rock.

"I was about to say, even as little as you are, Harry, there's no way you could have wiggled through this," Sirius observed, illuminating the area with wandlight. "I don't see any gaps at all. Big crack in the ceiling, though—we might want to be careful, more ceiling could come down on our heads anytime—"

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Aletha said, flicking her wand, and promptly rediscovered that levitated objects were tricky to keep balanced in the air when one was balancing oneself in the air as well. "I don't think my broom likes me anymore."

_(So get off it. I don't think there's anything worse than water on the floor here.)_

"With all the slime in that pipe we flew down? Unlikely." Sirius dismounted anyway, his shoes hitting the stone with a squelch.

Aletha rolled her eyes and pointed her wand down. "_Scourgify_." A patch of stone obediently cleaned up and dried off, and Aletha landed neatly in that spot.

"I'll just stay up here, if it's all right with you," Ginny said shakily from her seat on Harry's Nimbus.

"You do that. _Wingardium Leviosa_."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Sirius echoed, and a third largish rock chunk floated from the middle of the tunnel to the side.

_(Oh, I bet I know what happened,)_ Harry said suddenly. _(We kinda made the place go boom last time I was through here.)_

Sirius snickered, undoubtedly at Harry's sheepish tone. "Care to elucidate?"

_(Big word.)_

"Explain, clarify," Aletha said, deciding to show off a bit and nonverbally move three rocks at once.

_(Ah. Ron's wand was backfiring on him about once an hour all last year. Which was a royal pain right up until Lockhart tried to Obliviate us with it. It went boom.)_

"Oh, is _that_ why he's in St. Mungo's Long-Term Care," Aletha realized.

A mental snicker. _(Yep. And good riddance. I'd had it up to here—)_ A mental image of a very tall Harry waving a hand level with the top of his glasses frames. _(—with him going on about how I could be more famous—with his help, of course. Blithering idiot. Never did figure out I'd much rather be a nobody with parents than a celebrity orphan.)_

"Why did he want to Obliviate you?" Sirius wondered.

_(Oh, long story.)_

Said story only took a few minutes to tell, it turned out, mostly due to Harry's clear desire to avoid explaining what he and Ron were doing in a flying car anywhere near "that crazy tree", or why he'd wanted Lockhart in a good mood on the day of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf lesson, or any of several other things that sounded as if they'd make really good stories on their own, though undoubtedly embarrassing and/or incriminating Harry in the telling. By the time he was finished telling what he was willing to tell, there was a noticeable dent in the pile of rock blocking the tunnel, but not enough to let them through.

"This is boring," Sirius observed.

"No kidding," Aletha and Ginny said in unison.

They worked in silence a while longer. "I was wondering," Aletha finally said quietly. "How do Horcruxes work?"

_(Don't ask,)_ was the immediate, and furious, reply. _(**Don't** ask.)_

"I don't want to know how to _make_ one of the damn things," Aletha snapped back. "I just want to know the theory behind how they work, so I've got a better idea of why we need to destroy them."

_(Oh. Sorry. I don't want to talk about it, though, it's horrible.)_

Sirius glanced back at Aletha and Ginny. "I think we'd figured that out already. And I'm with Letha."

_(Fine, fine—but if anyone **else** asks, **you** explain it, because I don't want to think about this either.)_

"Fair," Aletha decided.

_(All right. Murder tears the soul apart. I don't know why only murder. Might be a rule God made at the beginning of the world, I don't know. But if you murder someone, then a bit of your soul gets torn off, where it's supposed to cease to serve any useful purpose whatsoever, because it's not connected to anything. It stays near the rest of the soul, though, might even reattach itself. I think it has to reattach itself eventually if it can, actually.) _

"Good news for those of us in a business which occasionally involves death and destruction," Sirius observed, tossing another rock.

_(It only counts if it's murder. Not killing because you have to.) _

"Good to know," said Aletha. _Sirius's soul has been through enough. _

_(Anyway, when the person dies and the soul flies off to the afterlife, the torn-off bit follows, because it wants to be part of the whole soul, and only a whole soul can get through to the afterlife. But if that soul bit's part of a Horcrux, it can't follow, which means the rest of the soul can't go either. With me so far?)_

"Yeah," Sirius said. "Go on."

_(As to how the soul bit becomes part of a Horcrux: any soul that's not a ghost has a body. The object part of the Horcrux becomes the body of the soul part of the Horcrux. They're connected together the same way a body and soul are usually connected together—it's like this. You've got the body.)_ A solid-looking but translucent human shape appeared in front of Aletha, remaining near the center of her vision no matter how she turned her head. _(You've got the soul.)_ A similar figure, only this one was clearly transparent. It seemed Harry was being careful not to let his images overwhelm the view of the rock pile they were clearing away.

"Pretty," Ginny said.

_(Thank you. Then you've got the connection between them.)_ A line of silver drew itself from inside the transparent figure's left ring finger, out the wrist, over to the heart of the translucent figure. The two figures merged into one more translucent than the one but less transparent than the other, with the silver line now contained fully within the figure's arm. _(The murderous bastard who wants to make a Horcrux.)_ Another figure identical in every way but coloration, even having the odd doubled look to it. _(And the thing he wants to make into a Horcrux.)_ The locket Danger and Remus had flattened with Aletha's frying pan appeared near the second figure's hand, about five times life-size. _(And the reason Horcrux creation is so horrible.)_

A pause, probably for Harry to steel himself to explain. _(Ordinary killing, no matter how it's done, only cuts the connection between the body and the soul. To make a Horcrux, though, you have to yank it out at both ends. Which hurts like hell.)_ The second figure gestured, and the silver cord in the first figure shot forward, taking a transparent finger and a translucent chunk of red stuff with it. _(If Muggle doctors looked at someone who was killed to make a Horcrux, they'd say the person died of a burst heart. It's even true. But that's not all that killed them.)_

The finger freed itself from the cord and zipped back to its place on the hand of the transparent soul-figure, which was hightailing it out of there. The translucent body-figure was sprawled on the ground. _(The point of murdering a witch or wizard in this particular way—it has to be a witch or wizard, because Muggles don't have cords strong enough to be any use for Horcruxes, because another purpose of the cord is to get magic from the soul to the body when casting spells—anyway, the point of committing murder this way is to get that silver cord.)_

"Because it's useful?" Ginny asked in a wavering voice.

_(Yes. Because then it can be used to connect the shiny gold body—)_ The cord shook off the red stuff, and that end glued itself to the locket. _(—to the shiny new soul piece.)_ The other end merged with the now-severed transparent right hand of the murderous-bastard figure. Said figure's translucent right hand remained right where it belonged. _(And behold, one life insurance certificate.)_ The images evaporated. _(Is the concept clear now?)_

"Very," Sirius said. "I have a pretty good idea of what you're talking about with that silver cord. Supposedly people who die and come back as ghosts are actually souls tied to the world the same way they used to be tied to their bodies. So the cord thing makes perfect sense."

"I wonder if that means people who were murdered for Horcruxes can't come back as ghosts," Aletha mused. _I wonder how Harry knows how much this kind of murder hurts the victim. Lord Whatshisface wouldn't know, since he's never been on the receiving end._ But this thought Aletha didn't voice.

"And in a complete change of subject," Sirius said, regarding the tunnel blockage, "wanna have a transfiguration duel?"

Aletha looked at Ginny. "Read, he wants to show off."

Sirius flicked his wand, and several rocks zipped from the pile, transforming into weasels midair, which Sirius proceeded to juggle.

Aletha doubled over laughing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ginny laughing so hard that she almost fell off the broom, catching herself just in time and hanging on in a way that mimicked a half-completed Sloth Grip Roll.

"YOWCH! It bit me!"

Watching Sirius's antics as he tried to remove the weasel from his finger only made Aletha laugh harder.

_(Serves you right for doing something with teeth,)_ Harry pointed out in a tone that sounded suspiciously as if he'd be laughing himself sick if he could.

Sirius yanked the weasel off his finger by force and hurled it at Ginny, missing by a mile. Once the small animal hit the ground, it scurried off, presumably following its companions, who were long gone.

_Wingardium Leviosa,_ Aletha thought, pointing her wand at a head-sized rock, which she immediately sent flying straight at Sirius's skull.

He ducked. "Oy! Watch it, woman, I need my head intact!"

_(Can't imagine why,)_ Harry remarked. _(It's not like there's anything in there—watch it, we've got rocks falling—)_

Aletha got out of the way.

A minute later, when the dust cleared, Sirius took a few cautious steps forward and glanced over the sizable gap in the rock fall, then clambered through the opening. "I do believe we've gotten through the rock pile," he said from the other side.

"Huzzah," said Ginny, clearly still nervous. "What's that smell?"

_(Whaddaya wanna bet it's dead basilisk?)_

"Ew."

Aletha tapped her face with her wand, conjuring the fishbowl-like Bubble-Head Charm, then mounted her broomstick and flew the two feet to Ginny to repeat the process.

"I might as well stay on the ground," Sirius decided. "My feet are already wet. Guess you get the Nimbus to yourself a while longer, Ginny."

"_Huzzah_. Can we get a _move_ oneeeaaah!"

"Harry!" Aletha yelled after the broomstick disappearing down the tunnel.

_(We're moving, which is what she wanted—you coming, or do we have to do this ourselves?)_

Aletha zoomed after them.

"OY! Wait for me!"

"Run faster!" Aletha yelled over her shoulder.

"I'm crazy," Ginny informed Aletha once Aletha caught up to Ginny in what was obviously the Chamber of Secrets itself. "I'm stark raving mad, and everyone was considerate enough not to mention it."

"Hm?"

"I volunteered for this, remember? I _chose_ to come back here—" She blinked a couple times, her freckles standing out clearly against her dead white skin, and suddenly her eyes were mostly vivid green with traces of brown, rather than vice versa.

"Relax, Ginny," said Harry's voice, though it was Ginny's mouth that moved. "No more basilisk, no more diary, and we're arranging it so there's no more Tom. It's all right. It'll be all right."

_(I shouldn't have let her come,)_ whispered Harry in Aletha's mind. _(She doesn't remember opening the Chamber and setting the basilisk on people, or I should say she doesn't know she remembers opening the Chamber and setting the basilisk on people, but hearing Parseltongue come out of her mouth is stirring up nightmares.)_

_(You could have talked through Sirius or me,)_ Aletha thought in Harry's general direction.

_(She didn't want me to.)_ Something that might be a shrug. _(Maybe she's trying to prove she's not a scaredy-cat?)_

_(Whatever.)_

"That looks and smells positively disgusting," Sirius observed from fifteen feet below.

Aletha rolled her eyes, though she knew he couldn't see. "There's a reason I'm not looking at it, and there's a reason I've got a fishbowl on my head."

"So where's this cup supposed to be?" Sirius asked.

_(In the basilisk's hidey-hole. Idea was, in the unlikely event that someone other than Voldemort found the Chamber, and in the much less likely event that this someone spoke Parseltongue, then when this someone got into the Chamber—not difficult, the password to open the pipe is also the password to open the door we just came through, and that password is "Open"—then this person would still have to find the hidey-hole and figure out the password if this person wanted to get at the Horcrux, and since there's lots of places around here for the basilisk to hole up in, anyone who opened the hidey-hole who wasn't expecting a basilisk to be in it would have about half a second to live. Two if the basilisk was asleep when the hidey-hole opened.)_

"And where is this hidey-hole?"

_(Guess.)_

"I don't want to waste time playing guessing games, Harry," Aletha said. "Just go do your bit."

_(Oh, **fine**.)_

Ginny flew up to the face of the giant statue with the Dumbledoresque beard. Aletha followed—the closer she was, the quicker she could act, and the better off Ginny would be.

Ginny took a deep breath and let it out in a stream of hissing. _("Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four,")_ Harry translated.

"Arrogant much?" Aletha muttered.

The statue's mouth opened wide. Ginny moved to hover just inside the hole, then carefully slid off the broom onto the wide stone lip, grabbing the upper lip to balance. With her other hand, she drew her wand. "_Lumos_." She shone the light around the inside of the hole. "Big," she observed. "Here sparkly..._here_ sparkly...come to Ginny...ah-_ha_!" She edged forward, leaning in, then grumbled something, edged back out, swung herself back onto the broom, and flew two feet forward. "You out of the way, Ms. Letha?"

"I'm clear," Aletha said, making sure she was.

"Good. Is he?"

Aletha looked down at Sirius and waved him to the right, which would get him well out of range. She turned back to face the statue, pulling out the vial of potion in her pocket. "He's clear."

"Ready—one—two—three—" A loud gasp. A small gold something went hurtling out of the statue's mouth. A moment later, a small pale girl followed, though much more slowly, trying to hold her wand and steer the broom with her right hand while her left hung at her side. "Ow, ow, ow..."

"That does look nasty," Aletha said, magically maneuvering Ginny's left arm till the hand, already turning an ugly purple-black with traces of green, was where she could pour the burn salve over it.

_(Wait—do Scourgify or something first—that green, that's basilisk venom—)_

_Uh-oh. Please God._ "_Scourgify_!"

The green disappeared. A relieved sound. _(I think we're good now—she's not feeling anything but the burning—get that salve on NOW—)_

"Slave driver," Aletha muttered as she obeyed.

"Ow," Ginny whispered. "Ow, ow, ow."

_(You're right, Ginny, you are crazy.)_

"Tell me something—"

"_Suraraduri_," Aletha whispered, then caught the now-sleeping Ginny before she could fall off the broom. Sleep was good. If she was asleep, maybe she wouldn't feel the burn from the contact poison Ugly-wart had smeared on the cup. It was a clever plan, Aletha mused, steering both brooms down to ground level. Certainly clever in comparison to the Birdbath of Doom. _Make it so it can't be destroyed where it is and it can't be moved unless touched, and put something on it that hurts like bloody blue blazes when touched and kills pretty quickly unless it's neutralized by basic burn salve—and even assuming someone had it with them, who would think to treat poison with burn salve?_

_Wait. Poison. Venom._

"Harry, how do you know if that was basilisk venom? And if it is, how can you be sure it's not hurting her still?"

_(You come half an inch from dying of something, you'll recognize it on sight too.)_

Aletha blinked. "When we get back home, you are going to tell me _all_ about this past school year."

_(Bet you ten Galleons you don't believe me.)_

Sirius was kneeling on the Chamber floor, examining the small gold cup from a careful distance. He looked up as the two brooms approached. "I think you'd better take a look at this..."

Aletha Scourgified a patch of floor and slid off her broom, made sure Ginny remained supported in midair by both of them, then looked herself. The badger marking Harry'd mentioned was quite visible from this angle, as were the lines of green that apparently meant basilisk venom. Most obvious, though, was the semicircular section missing from the lip of the cup, and the distortion around the edge of that section.

_(It's dead,)_ Harry said incredulously. _(That's it, and it's **dead**. It must have been dead for months—I'll bet you anything that basilisk managed to skewer it by accident—it's already dead!)_

"You mean to tell me," Sirius said slowly, "that I snuck into Hogwarts, got cried at by a ghost with PMS, spent twenty minutes hauling rocks, got bit by a weasel, nearly got my head removed with another rock, and had to go through a Floo trip as an effing _quill_, all to kill something that's already _dead_?"

_(That sounds about right.)_

Aletha made a mental note to look up the words Sirius was using once she got home, and if they meant anything like what she thought they meant, to punch him for using them.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	17. Lay On, Macduff

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from and lots of good stuff written by why­do­you­need­to­know, plus bits of random and scarily appropriate songs that were playing on my psychic/psychotic WMP while I was writing (none of which I own either), this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 17: Lay On, Macduff

"...then for the sixth-years, I thought I'd start them on basic dueling spells and strategies—"

"Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry to interrupt—"

Remus broke off, glancing at the door. No one there, so how—_oh. Somebody's head in the fire._

"—but you wanted to be informed whenever anything unusual happened to the Dursley family in Surrey," continued the head in the fire, a vaguely familiar young woman with neon yellow hair. "It's—they're dead, Professor."

"They're _what_?" Remus burst out.

_Oh no. Sirius was only a few blocks from them last night—and he's already said he'd like to kill Vernon and Petunia for what they put Harry through—not that I blame him, but—_

"Died last night, it looks like," the young woman continued. "The murderers used some kind of cutting spell, Mad-Eye's trying to figure out what it was, then it looks like they mixed dirt in the victims' blood and used that to paint the Dark Mark on the wall, and an X with a lightning bolt through it—"

_No, a lightning bolt crossed out,_ Remus realized. _For Harry. And dirt plus blood—Harry's 'Mudblood' mother. **Shit**. Why didn't we realize Voldemort would hit again?_ He stood up. "I should go," he told Dumbledore and the young woman in the fire, then left the office before either one could say anything to him, mentally swearing in three different languages.

_(Hey, cool, swearwords Sirius doesn't know,)_ said a voice in his head. _(And I've been hearing quite a few the past few minutes. He's annoyed we went to all this trouble to get the cup Horcrux.)_

_(Really?)_ Remus thought back. _(Do tell.)_

_(Voldemort outsmarted himself. Seems the basilisk managed to kill the Horcrux by mistake.)_

_(You're pulling my leg.)_

_(Am not.)_

Remus snorted. _(Pull the other one.)_

_(I am not joking. That Horcrux was dead before we got there.)_

Remus stopped dead. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

An image of a gold cup with a badger marking and a chunk missing swam in front of his eyes for a moment. _(No joke.)_

Remus drew a mental curtain between himself and the cinnamon-red feeling that was Harry, then picked a couple more languages to swear in.

_(Do I want to know where you learned all these words?)_ Danger asked.

_(Probably not.)_

xXxXx

Aletha stared at Remus. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"No joke," Remus answered with what might be a smile. "Dumbledore got a Floo call from someone I suspect is an Auror trainee, and she told us the Dursleys died last night."

"Good riddance," said several voices at once.

Hermione glanced from Sirius to Remus, then smacked the heel of her hand into her forehead, and did it twice more before Ron, who was nearest, caught her wrist.

"Ow," Hermione mumbled.

"Shouldn't do that," Danger remarked. "Kills brain cells."

"It's not like she doesn't have plenty to spare," Alex observed.

"We are all such _imbeciles_!" Hermione shouted, startling everyone. "V-V—"

_(Voldemoron?)_ Harry suggested helpfully.

"Ha. He was in Little Whinging last night—so were _you_ and _you_—" She pointed at Sirius and Aletha. "—and the last Horcrux got smashed by a cast-iron frying pan before that—we could have gotten him last night—maybe not killed him, but definitely put him out of commission until we figured out how to kill him and get Harry back where he belongs—_and we didn't do it!_ And now three more people are _dead_!"

Alex snickered. "There's one more—wait—there's three more angels in heaven, there's three more stars in the sky—"

"Alexander William," Remus said calmly. Alex stopped singing. "Hermione," Remus continued, "how exactly were we supposed to know before last night that we had one fewer Horcrux to defuse than expected? And how were we to know that Voldemort would be somewhere we know how to find?"

"Yes, Hermione, how were we to know?" Aletha asked, picking up her knife to resume chopping up burn salve ingredients.

"Er—well—"

_(I don't know how we could have known about the Horcrux,)_ Harry said in a tone of voice that suggested he really didn't want to say this, _(but we have a way to find out if, when, and where Voldemort's planning to attack next...)_

"You're loony, you know that?" Ron said.

_(Thank you, I'd never have figured that out on my own.)_ Harry's voice lost the note that said 'sarcasm'. _(It's just—I can't say I'm sorry the Dursleys are dead. I'm not. But I can't say I'm glad, either. Because I'm not. And I'm definitely not glad Hermione's parents are dead. And I can't imagine Voldemort won't be going after someone else—I'm surprised it happened this soon, but not surprised it happened—and I know I can sneak into his head and sneak out with sensitive information, and there is no reason, none at all, why we should just let people die when there's something we can do about it.)_

"But _can_ we do anything about it?" Ron asked. "I mean, it's He-Who—"

"Need-Not-Be-Hyphenated-All-The-Effing-Time," Sirius interjected.

"Do you want to be hexed again?" Aletha asked her cauldron. When no answer came, she said, "Continue, Ron."

"Yeah. It's _him_, and it's his followers, and we're just kids, what can we do? And there's only three of you, and there's at least that many Death Eaters—"

"And the day Letha and I can't handle three-to-one odds is the day we die," Sirius broke in again. "And I don't know about her, but I've known my daughter for less than a day, and that just isn't long enough for me, you know?"

Meghan darted around the table to Sirius and hugged him tight.

"You two look so sweet together," Aletha observed, putting down her knife so she could go hug them both.

"Where's a camera when we need one?" Danger asked the ceiling.

Ginny cleared her throat. "I think—I think Harry should go find out where V-Voldemort's going to be next."

_(Seconded,)_ said Harry after the slightest of hesitations.

"Minuted," Alex said.

Snorts and snickers.

"What, is no one going to hour it?" Ginny asked.

_(Whatever. I'm going before I lose my nerve.)_ And the half-seen red aura around Ginny flickered out.

Remus opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Why do I have the feeling that this isn't going to end well?" Danger asked.

"I want to dance," Meghan decided, wiggling out of the hug and running to the radio on one counter.

"When don't you want to dance?" Aletha wondered, taking her fiancé's newly empty lap.

_Wanna feel your touch,_ the radio sang, _you know I love you so much, maybe with a little love our world will turn slower, 'cause we've been moving so fast, seems life is flying past, can we make this moment last? I wanna remember, remember..._

"Let's dance," Aletha sang along, "while the lights are shining bright," and she stood and pulled Sirius to his feet. "Let's dance while the music's feeling right..."

"I want to dance too," Danger said, taking Remus's hand.

Alex led the non-dancers' exodus.

xXxXx

Hermione straddled one of the highest branches that would take her weight and looked down at Ron, whose excessive lengths of arm and leg were accentuated by his awkward crouch on one of the lower limbs of the tree. "You could come higher," she suggested.

"No thanks, think I'll stay down here." Ron rearranged himself so that he was lying facedown across the limb. "How did you get all the way up there anyway?"

"I climbed."

"I know that. I just never knew you climbed trees."

"There's a lot about me you don't know," Hermione said softly.

"I'm figuring that out, thanks."

"Does anybody ever really know anybody?" Ginny asked from the other side of the yard, where she was doing laps around the sapling tree, which wasn't much bigger than she was. Alex was sprawled in the grass a few feet away from the third tree, eyes shut, basking in what little sunlight there was.

"You and Harry are probably closer than most," Hermione said. "What with how you say you're hearing everything he says even when he doesn't mean you to. Same with Uncle Moony and Aunt Danger and the way they can converse telepathically now...actually it's probably exactly the same thing, now I think of it, since Harry and Aunt Danger both went through something nasty and came out of it with magic they didn't have before plus the aforementioned telepathic communication...Harry being able to talk with the rest of us the same way is probably a bonus that'll go away once he can talk with his own mouth again...What was that?"

"It's a bird," Ginny answered, looking up in Hermione's direction.

"No, it's a plane," Alex said without opening his eyes. "No, it's—"

"—a letter," Ron said, reaching out to grab the fluttering cream-colored rectangle.

_Oh. Must've landed on my head._

"No, you're supposed to say Superman."

"Shut up, Alex," Hermione said wearily. "Ron, don't start."

"Can I open the letter, or do you want to come down and get it?" Ron asked.

"Who's it from?"

"Neville."

"I doubt he's confessing his undying love for me," Hermione said dryly, "so go right ahead."

Ron unfolded the letter and scanned it. "Actually he is."

Hermione nearly fell out of the tree.

"Really?" Alex leapt up and ran over to snatch the letter, got out of Ron's reach to read it, then doubled over laughing. "Neenie's got a boyfriend, Neenie's got a boyfriend..."

Ginny came over, clipped Alex on the ear, and confiscated the letter. "'Dear Hermione,'" she read, "'I'm having trouble with Snape's essay. I was wondering if you could help me...' Lots of questions I only half understand. Closes with 'Thank you, I love you forever, your friend, Neville.'"

"Well, if _that's_ all it is..."

"Yeah, that's all it is." Ginny folded it up and stuck it in a pocket. "I figure you'll have plenty of time to answer him at length and in depth later—is that another owl?"

The answer came almost immediately in the form of a pale chartreuse parchment addressed in aquamarine ink which dropped into Ginny's hands. She flipped it open, looked it over, and sighed. "Luna is my oldest friend and I love her dearly, but she is half fwooper and her other half's been listening to too much fwooper song, and some days it is painfully obvious. She says something about she'll be ready tonight when we need her—one, I don't know how she knows I'm not in Egypt, two, I don't know what we'd need her for—"

A burst of cinnamon in Hermione's head, and a phrase that made her wince. "Speaking of which," she interrupted, "hello, Harry, what's wrong now?"

_(Guess,) _Harry said venomously. _(Guess who, of all the people we know, went and told Voldemort **all **about my 'Mudblood' friends and relatives. Go on, guess.)_

"People we know?" said Ron, sitting up. "All of us?"

_(Not Alex, but that's all for the best, I think.)_

"Someone at school, then," said Ginny. "Let me think, now." Her lips were pulled back, showing her teeth. "Not Malfoy, maybe?"

_(Got it in one. As soon as his daddy was convinced that the person who looked like me was actually the Dork Lord, Malfoy was only too happy to tell him everything about me that he might not otherwise have known.)_

"But he is you," Ron said, looking puzzled. "What would Malfoy know about you that you don't?"

_(More like, what would Malfoy care about. Like blood status. When do you think was the last time I thought about Hermione being Muggle-born? Or you two, Ron, Ginny, being pureblood? It **doesn't matter** to me. I know it, sure, but I don't think about it much, so it wouldn't be easy for him to get at. But Malfoy thinks about it all the time.)_

"Same Malfoy kid you were telling me about, Hermione?" Alex asked.

"I certainly hope there aren't any others around," Hermione said. "So what, exactly, is Voldemort going to do, Harry?"

_Since I already know what he already did. _A wave of anger/sorrow/pain rolled over her, and she had to grip the branch tightly to keep from falling. _I'll get you for that, you misbegotten son of a bitch..._

She'd missed the beginning of what Harry was saying, she realized, and tuned back in. _(...like Colin Creevey. His dad's a milkman, and he's got a brother about Alex's age. They're who Voldemort's after tonight.)_

"I don't like him much," Ron said, "but setting V-V-You-Know-Who on his family...no. That's wrong."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Ginny said tartly. "Anything else, Harry?"

_(Oh, no, nothing. Unless you count that little excursion to Azkaban tonight.)_

"Of course," Ginny said in the same tone. "I love my evenings in prison."

"He needs more followers, doesn't he?" Hermione said, starting to feel sick. "He's going to break out some of the Death Eaters who were caught."

_(Not personally. He wants to go on the killings personally, because then he gets to pretend he's Psycho Harry.)_ He wasn't bothering to shield the building rage in his tone. _(Damn it, Hermione, your parents know me, they know what I look like, and they died thinking I killed them!) _It was almost a scream. _(They thought one of their daughter's best friends went crazy and came after them because they're not good enough, and he told them he was going after you next, that he knew where you were, that he was going to do the same things to you that he did to **both** of them—)_

Alex bolted for the house, his face paler than usual.

"But he won't," Hermione interrupted loudly. "He won't, because he won't get a chance. Because we got rid of everything keeping him here, and we're going to get rid of him next. It's not your fault he's using your body that way, it's horrible and disgusting and wrong, and don't you think my parents know that now? Don't you think they understand?" Her knuckles were white, but she didn't dare let go of the branch. "None of this is your fault, Harry. _You didn't do anything._"

"And you're helping the best you can right now," Ginny added tentatively. "You went into Voldemort's mind. I don't think anyone else ever dared to do that."

"Don't run yourself down, mate," said Ron. "We need you."

A mental snort. _(Sure you do.)_

Ginny sighed. "Harry, come here." The cinnamon scent in Hermione's mind faded, which, given the way it was feeling more and more like hot coals growing hotter and about to burst into flame, she had to admit was a relief.

Ginny ran over to the back door of the house, which was disgorging its inhabitants. "I think Harry needs a hug," she said boldly. Her posture shifted, and—

"Oy, Ginny!" shouted Harry's very different voice. "That's not fair!"

Ms. Letha stepped around Uncle Moony and Aunt Danger and knelt in front of Ginny—_Harry_—pulling her—_him_—into her arms. "It'll be all right, Harry," she reassured him. "You've made sure of that."

"Think about it, Harry," Meghan added, hugging Ginny/Harry from behind. "Maybe we'll have to keep you Stunned for a while till we figure out how to keep Voldemoron out of your head, but we _will_ figure a way to do it, and then we've won."

Padfoot the dog poked Ginny/Harry's arm with his undoubtedly cold nose, causing a yelp, then sat back on his haunches and adopted a look that must be meant to be soulful but from this angle only looked ridiculous. Hermione heard something that might be a laugh, and a freckled arm reached out to scratch Padfoot's head.

"Alex tells me there's a two-pronged plan for tonight?" Aunt Danger asked, interrupting the moment.

_(Right,) _Harry said, sounding like someone who was shaking off deep thoughts and returning to the real world. _(The Malfoys are going to Azkaban, supposedly to visit, really to spring as many of the Death Eaters as they can, and Folderdork and a couple of the Death Biters are going to go after the Creevey family.)_

Meghan giggled, and Ms. Letha put a hand over her mouth. Padfoot fell over on his side, making a wheezing sound. "Folderdork?" Uncle Moony asked carefully, looking up into the tree about halfway between Ron and Hermione.

_(You have a better name? I'm always looking for new ones.)_

"We'll think about it," Aunt Danger said. "All right, who's going where?" Her face turned mulish. "And if you even _think_ of telling me to stay home..."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Uncle Moony said blandly.

"He likes living too much," Ms. Letha finished.

Seven people and a dog snickered.

xXxXx

Danger shivered, whether from cold or nerves she couldn't tell. The ambiance wasn't helping any—the entire island had a horrible miasma, the mist chilly and almost slimy, the very air permeated with a feeling of hopelessness—

Something touched her arm, and she jumped.

_(Shh, it's me.)_

Danger breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately regretted it. _(Remus. You startled me.)_

_(I noticed. It's all right, I'm here.)_

_(Yeah. I know. It's just, I keep thinking, I've had a grand total of three hours' training in what to do with this thing—)_ She fingered Lily's wand. _(—and here I'm going up against a couple people who've probably been learning all about magic and how to cause the most pain with it for longer than I've been alive—thinking maybe I should just go home now—except I can't if you don't take me, and we don't dare leave now—and don't even think about taking me home anyway,)_ she added. _(You are not leaving me out of this.)_

_(I wasn't going to say anything.)_

_(Sure you weren't. This is ridiculous anyway. I just point my wand and whisper Petrificus Totalis once or twice, Lumos Purpurea if I need it, and that's the end of it. Easy, right? But—)_

_(But you've never been in a firefight before and you're nervous. I understand perfectly.)_ Strong hands began to rub her shoulders. _(We'll Stun Lucius and Narcissa, we'll drag them out of here, maybe we'll stick Lucius somewhere he'll be publicly humiliated just for the fun of it, we'll swing by the Creeveys' and see if Sirius and Letha need any help, and then we'll go home with them and they'll have Harry with them and everything will be all right and we'll make lots of noise to celebrate, and more once the kids are safely asleep, and I don't know about you but I can hardly wait.)_

She laughed inside her mind. _(That's certainly something to look forward to—)_

_(Shh. I think they're here.)_

xXxXx

"You look like a picture," Meghan observed.

"Huh?"

"Spare us your eloquence, Ron," Alex said lazily from his seat on the floor next to one end of the couch, then turned a page in his book.

Hermione closed her book, leaned forward, bopped Alex on the head with it, leaned back against Ron, and went back to reading. Ginny, her head on Ron's other shoulder, just sighed.

"You do," Meghan said. "You four, sitting the way you are, you look like a picture."

Ron glanced at Hermione, then Ginny. "How did I get named the official pillow anyway?"

"Maybe because you're bigger than Alex is and it's weird to lean on someone smaller than you?" Hermione suggested.

"Whatever."

Meghan rolled her eyes and, giving up on sitting still, darted into the kitchen to fetch the radio, then set it on the end table and flipped it on.

_...We all need to feel alive...If it's love that keeps us breathing, gives us something to believe in, is it fear that makes us blind? Tell me, why is love so hard to find? If we care so much about it, and we can't go on without it, let the mystery unwind, tell me, why is love so hard to find?_

Meghan danced, leaping here and twirling there, picturing each absent person in her mind. _Dancing's a kind of magic, Mama said, same as music. So I'll dance for Mr. Lupin and Mrs. Danger and Mama and Dad and Harry. I'll dance them strength and I'll dance them luck and I'll dance them safely home._

xXxXx

If he'd had a heart, it would have been beating in quintuple time.

_(You all right, Harry?)_ asked the warm brown presence. _(You're quiet.)_

_(I'm fine,)_ he sent back. To distract himself from how unfine he actually was, he contemplated again the weirdness of talking by shaping words with his mind instead of his mouth. _(I'll be fine.)_

_(You don't sound fine,)_ said the distant rosy presence. _(You sound—you sound scared.)_

_(If I admit I'm scared, will you leave me be?)_

A feeling of startlement from the cool blue person-shape over to the left. Apparently he'd been loud enough for her to hear. "Try to calm down, Harry," she said, and though he heard it no differently than he heard anyone's thoughts, her voice had the echoing feeling that meant she was speaking aloud. "This should all be over in no time. I can't promise we'll have you back where you belong tonight, but I'm positive we'll at least have your unconscious body at home where he can't cause any more mischief with it. He can't possibly have more than five people with him, and three to one odds is nothing. It's just like Quidditch. We'll keep an eye out for the Chasers and Beaters and Keeper, throw Bludgers in their direction every chance we get, and focus on knocking out the Seeker."

_(The trouble with that analogy is Slytherin's got a full team and Gryffindor's only fielding two Beaters and a Seeker, and the Seeker might as well not be on the field,)_ Harry retorted. _(And Madam Pomfrey's not standing by with racks of potions in case we break anything, and nobody gives a damn what a foul is, and there's no ref to call them on it anyway.)_

"At least we got the spectators well away from the pitch," Sirius pointed out. "So if Slytherin tries any bumphing, there's nothing to hurt but the stands."

_(Comforting. I just hope this doesn't turn into the World Cup final of 1473.)_

"It won't," Sirius said, with the rippling brightness to his brownness that meant he was laughing. "I don't know any Death Munchers that creative, and I don't see any reason for Letha or me to bother with creativity, seeing as we just want to knock everybody out and go home."

"I think I'm switching allegiance to the Falcons for the duration of this match," Letha commented. "I like their motto." Accompanying the words was an image of a fifteen-foot-tall Letha picking up two ordinary-sized black-cloaked, white-masked wizards and banging their heads together. Under ordinary circumstances this image would have started Harry laughing hard for a minute or two, but these circumstances were anything but ordinary, so he only passed it on and let Sirius do the laughing.

Five _pop_s echoed through Sirius's ears in quick succession, and suddenly there was nothing to laugh about anymore. Four of the newcomers had unfamiliar color-scent-touch impressions to their magic, though they all had matching green-tainted areas on what must, on their physical bodies, be the left forearm, but the fourth was an all-too-familiar vivid slimy green. A ball of red-purple-brown shot from the red-brown of Sirius's wand towards Voldemort, Aletha followed with something gold and pink-red and two shades of blue, the Death Eaters retaliated with spells mostly in shades of dark mingled with the caster's color and wand colors—

_I guess this has its uses after all,_ Harry thought, keeping a metaphorical eye on each of the combatants. Actually it was kind of fun, being able to watch the battle from his unique perspective, nudge the Death Eaters' minds towards spells less damaging than they meant to cast, steal control of their hands for a heartbeat to enjoy having actual tactile sensation and to twist their aim away from Sirius and Letha, send silent warnings when a spell he couldn't divert in time was coming—

—some of the slimy green magic was twisting itself into a spell, a _black_ spell, that couldn't be good—the dark-tainted white-gold that must be Harry's wand was tracking the movements of the brown shape that was Sirius—the green mind thought the syllables _Avada_—

—in the heartbeat of this realization, Harry was moving, leaping from his position semi-attached to Sirius back to his _own_ body, slamming into the familiar solid warmth, opening his own eyes and seeing black cloth and pale skin where Sirius was instead of brown magic, meeting gray eyes, then seeing only magic again but not caring about physical sight because what mattered was untangling the knot of black-green before it could go anywhere—vaguely aware that he was sitting against the wall but not caring about that either because there was so much green magic and he was smothering and _where is it all coming from_ there wasn't that much of it a minute ago and it was being used up but there wasn't any less of it—

—he reached into Voldemort's mind for the answer and found himself fighting on two levels at once, three if you counted the physical struggle over which way his wand was pointing, Voldemort had a good enough hold on his left arm that Harry could barely tell it was still there, but Harry was right-handed and Voldemort wasn't and Harry wanted his wand back so he was basically arm-wrestling himself—

—he broke through on the mental level—_I'd be impressed, except that that's killing me—but if he can bind them to him with his magic and use that Mark to drain them of theirs, I can steal what he's taking and give it away_—

—act followed thought, and the power was flowing out of Voldemort's reserves as fast as it flowed in, Harry's own magic filtering the slimy greenness out of it so that raw white power flooded the channels between Harry at one end and brown or blue or red or gold or blue or violet or rose or orange or cream at the other—

—_tsei, he's still got too much—I'm using up mine too fast, this is going to kill me—but you knew there was no way you'd live through this, not when you've got the last Horcrux on your head for people to gawk at, you're dead already, you just got a chance to take your murderer down with you—_

—a spell was forming, slime-green and blood-red—a brush of Voldemort's mind told Harry what it was, Sectumsempra, and what it did—_I could have stopped that if I was paying attention—I don't have enough magic left to undo it—but I can use it—_he tried for a moment to get back control of his left hand, then settled for twisting that wrist far enough that maybe it broke but it didn't matter because the next moment the spell flew from the wand tip and _OW_ and the arm that might as well not be his suddenly wasn't—

_(Harry!)_

_(Ginny, I'm sorry, tell everyone I'm sorry and I'll miss you, I told you I wouldn't live very long, now leave me alone)_—he had his wand back in his right hand where it belonged, and it was so hard to get the wand tip up against his scar but it got there and he twisted some of his magic into the blood-red spell—

_(HARRY!)_

Voldemort tried to escape, but the rest of Harry's magic went to making sure he wouldn't—

—_Mum, Dad, I'm coming_—

The spell flew free.

_(**HARRY!**)_

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	18. Swiftest Wings

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow and a snippet of a song borrowed without permission from Lea Salonga, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 18: Swiftest Wings

Dementor influence or not, Danger was feeling euphoric. The trio of Death Eaters obviously hadn't been expecting any kind of resistance other than the dementors themselves, and even when they did realize they were under attack, they had no way to know where their attackers were, no way to fight back except to try to find cover and hunker down, and they'd made the fatal mistake of splitting up.

_Morons._

Remus, with his greater power and practice, had taken charge of breaking the magical shields the Death Eaters were hiding behind. Danger's job was to strike down the suddenly exposed enemy before he (or she, the second one was a woman, judging by the scream Danger's Body-Bind spell had cut off) realized that was even a possibility.

_And it's worked perfectly so far. Two down, one to go..._

_(I can't see the last one,) _Remus said. _(He could be anywhere. Let's meet back up and figure out how to get him.)_

_(Should I come to you, or you come to me?)_

_(You stay put. Keep your eyes open.)_

_(Will do.) _Danger pressed herself more firmly into the rock behind which she was crouching, straining her ears. _Of course, in a movie, this is the point where the bad guy would come up behind—_

Something caught her in the small of the back, and she collapsed bonelessly to the ground, without even time to scream.

xXxXx

_Heaven tonight will be waiting for you in this heart burning bright, there's a promise forever to heaven tonight..._

Ron's feet tapped the rhythm of the drum beat. His hands kept time with the more rapid rhythm of the notes. Meghan somehow managed to dance in time with both. Ginny was humming along.

Hermione closed her book, dropped it on the couch as she stood, and disappeared into the bathroom. Alex turned a page.

_I wish I knew what was happening,_ Ron thought. _Harry's going to find some way to do something stupid, I just know it—_

—suddenly it was like he was burning all over inside—

Ginny sat bolt upright. "Oh no, oh no—Harry!"

_I don't like the sound of this—_

"_HARRY!_" Ginny screamed, and collapsed.

Meghan was by the couch in an instant, grabbing Ginny's wrist. "Something's wrong."

"You think?" Alex snapped back, and met Ron's eyes. "She's dreaming, I think—something close, anyway—and she's falling and she's going to need you to pull her out—do you trust me?"

Trust someone he'd only known a couple days, who was driving him crazy faster than even Malfoy could? Alex would have to _be_ crazy to expect a 'yes', and Ron would have to be crazy to give one—but Ginny—

_Guess I'm crazy._

He held out his hand.

Alex looked at it for a second, blinked, then took it, and then Ron was falling too, and it was a long way down, but there was a rope tying itself around his waist so he was probably all right...

"I'd fall faster if I was smaller," Ron told the air. The bright red of Ginny's hair was too far down, and he didn't know how close the ground was...

His body shifted—he was lighter and, yes, smaller, and his eyesight was sharper, he could almost read the Gryffindor badge on Ginny's robes even though she was who knew how far away—

Ron folded his wings and plummeted.

xXxXx

Remus swore as Danger's senses filled with absolute terror. He didn't bother with stealth, setting out at a dead run for the last place he'd seen her. _(Danger! What's wrong? Answer me!)_

No words came back to him, but helplessness, pain, horror exploded into his mind. He shunted them aside, concentrating on the tiny thread of voice crying within the emotions. _(Not again—not again—please, no, not again—)_

_Again? Is it a dementor? But she can deal with them—she can't possibly value Alex so much more than herself that she can't fight back on her own account—_

"How...interesting," a man's voice said aloud, echoing to Remus's ears, coming from both ahead of him and above him—

Remus skidded to a halt and dropped to all fours, throwing his consciousness towards Danger's body. _(Let me in,) _he demanded silently. _(Let me help you—)_

_(No one helped me.) _Danger's voice was flat and emotionless. _(No one came. I screamed, but no one could hear. He let me scream, because he wanted to hear it. Because he liked to know that he was hurting me.)_

Remus gritted his teeth and cut through her words, pushing aside his growing understanding and the red-hot anger building inside him. _(That was then, Danger. This is now. You have to let me in—I can help you—this time could be different—)_

_(This time?)_ Flashes of sight, half clouded with the murkiness of distance and time and what Remus could now recognize as a sloppy Memory Charm, half shrouded by the mist and the hood of a cloak, but both the same man, from the same point of view. _(I—don't understand—)_

_(Yes, this time—Danger, this isn't the same! You're not alone now! Let me help you!)_

_(Not—alone—)_

The man straddling Danger leaned down and covered her mouth with his, forcing his tongue through her lips—Remus pulled back, and felt another mind clinging to his—_(Danger?)_

_(Remus, I know now—) _Danger's voice was terrified, but no longer caught in the past. _(The man who raped me, I never knew why I couldn't fight him before, now I do—he was magical, he used magic to hold me, to make sure I was awake but I couldn't get away—)_

_(This time he won't get away,)_ Remus said coldly, unsurprised at the flood of power through him as he rose to his feet. _(Hold on tight.)_

xXxXx

Aletha hardly noticed when Harry the Red-Eyed stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor. Sirius's flippancy aside, two people fighting five was _hard_, so one opponent removing himself from the fray was a good thing. Though it did help that nobody seemed to be aiming to kill and that a helpful little voice in her head kept warning her to dodge left or aim right.

Heartbeat.

Her blood was on fire—_what on earth did I just get hit with?_—but it wasn't so much painful as exhilarating—her Expelliarmus somehow had enough power to slam the Death Eater woman into the wall and knock her out, though she'd only meant to disarm her—the fire eased a bit—a Death Eater fell over despite being hit with absolutely nothing—Sirius blasted a third right through the wall with a Stunner—

Heartbeat.

A flash of light to the left—she turned her head—no, she had to be seeing wrong, there was _no way_ there was a five-inch gap between Harry's shoulder and upper arm, but there was blood lots of blood and he was so pale and his eyes were flickering green-red-green-red faster than a string of Christmas lights—he had his wand in his other hand and its tip flew up to touch his scar—_oh no he can't possibly_—she was running and the four feet to him took forever to cross—a thud over to the right—another flash of light and blood was gushing from the slash across his forehead—_HARRY NO_—the fire in her veins became blue light leaping from her hands because _I will not let you die dammit_—

Heartbeat.

She was running across soft grass under a warm blue sky, and somehow there was no cognitive dissonance here at all, but she _had to_ get over that cliff and catch the children—_children?_—she'd just seen fall off the edge, she _had_ to—and she cleared the edge with a leap and turned it into a dive because that reduced her air resistance and increased her speed and she needed every bit of speed she could get if she was going to reach the children before they smashed themselves into bits on the ground, and only then did it occur to her that she had no way of keeping herself from being smashed to bits on the ground, let alone them, and that this was therefore stupid.

Heartbeat.

xXxXx

Danger clung to the inside of Remus's mind and watched/heard/felt him destroy the shield the other wizard had put up, dive into the man and knock him off her own motionless body—she pulled free and leapt back into herself as thunder and lightning coursed through her limbs—

_What is it—no, never mind what it is, can I use it?_

She could. The spell binding her vanished, and she was on her feet, trembling, gasping. Remus didn't look up from what he was doing, but the tone of his mind changed, calling her to him. She stumbled to his side, dropping to her knees again and reaching blindly for his hand.

"That's him," she said aloud, not caring who heard her. "That's Alex's father."

xXxXx

_I thought dying people were supposed to see their lives flashing before them, or light at the end of a tunnel, or something like that. And their dead family members were supposed to come greet them. So why am I falling, and where are Mum and Dad?_

_At least I get to fly one last time. Even if this isn't reallEEOW!_

Harry growled and twisted around, trying to get a grip on the other boy that would prevent him from either doing anything to Harry (that had _hurt_, dying or otherwise) or escaping. _Though why I'm bothering, I don't know...it's not like he's got any way of getting back to the land of the living...I don't have to hold on to him any longer..._

Action followed realization, and a moment later, judicious application of Newton's laws pushed the two boys far enough apart that neither could reach the other. Which was certainly advantageous, judging by the murderous look in those red eyes.

_Not that he could do any worse to me than I've already done..._

"Bye, Tom," Harry said with a little wave, grinning, then gave into the childish impulse to stick his tongue out.

A wordless snarl.

_Ha._

_I win._

_I just wish I could have said goodbye..._

Too late now, though.

Harry closed his eyes to enjoy the last few seconds of feeling the wind rush through his hair.

xXxXx

"I beg your pardon," Remus said, amazed that he retained so much self-control as to still be able to speak coherently. "But no. I am Alex's father. This..." He opened his memories to Danger, letting her see the name and the life of the man lying half-conscious on the rocks before them, or as much of it as he knew. "This is an accident of nature."

_And one that will very soon be rectified. _He fingered his wand, considering what spells he knew that would have some of the effects he wanted while still remaining legal.

_If such a thing as spontaneous lycanthropic transformation existed, this would be the perfect time._

xXxXx

Ginny's scream sent Hermione into hyperdrive. She zoomed through the rest of the bathroom ritual, snatching the hand towel off the rod so she could dry her hands on the run, and rushed back to the others, doing an awkward imitation of a baseball slide to come to a stop sitting next to the couch. "What happened?" she demanded breathlessly.

"Dunno," Alex answered, probably truthfully. "She yelled about Harry and keeled over—she's sort of dreaming, close enough I could toss Freckles in after her, here's hoping they can fix whatever's wrong with Harry—you'd better go too, they all trust you more than me—"

"And which of the two of us has made a pointed attempt to aggravate Ronald as much as is humanly possible?" Hermione inquired, grabbing Ginny's and Ron's hands.

"You."

Hermione rolled her closed eyes. She could smell the rose that was Ginny and the pumpkin-spice of Ron just as easily as the apple pie scent of Alex, and just a hint of cinnamon, but the rose and pumpkin and cinnamon all had a not-here-ness reminiscent of the not-here-ness that meant they were dreaming, and the cinnamon scent was fading fast...

"Neenie go sleepy-bye now," Alex said, laughing, and the world was stretched and squeezed around her and snapped back into place with the pumpkin scent and fading rose and vanishing cinnamon firmly in the here and now and the apple pie scent plainly not-here, and she was falling, falling with nothing to stop her from becoming a big splat on the ground...

There was a rope just within arm's reach—she grabbed it with one hand, then the other, then wrapped her legs around it, and now she was sliding down the rope, which was enough of an improvement over freefall to push the panic to the side so she could think. _Blue sky. Blue sea. Black dots below me, and a couple specks of red. Rope. Tying one of the specks to something above me, maybe? Behind me—cliff. Alex must've pushed me off it. Yeah, that brown bit must be him—I'm falling fast, if I can barely see him now—either that or I need my eyes checked—he's got the other end of the rope, anyway, so as long as I hang on to the rope I'll be all right...though it'd be easier just to shift the setting for this dream to something less—potentially dangerous, say? I don't think any of us have any desire to go splat on the ground..._

xXxXx

_How bizarre,_ Remus thought carefully to himself, shielding the thoughts from Danger with some of the extra power which still rattled his bones, _how strange that the pureblood distaste for Muggles and Muggle-borns doesn't extend to **that **sort of contact..._

_(No one ever said men were noted for their logic.)_

Remus looked over at Danger. _(I thought you couldn't hear me.)_

_(Wherever that power came from, I got some too. But that doesn't matter now.) _Danger pressed her face into his shoulder for a moment, shivering. _(What matters is that we caught him. He's stopped. He'll never hurt anyone again, in any way.)_

Remus shivered himself, and looked around sharply as the import of being cold on Azkaban Island came to him. The mist seemed undisturbed, but that was no guarantee. _(Do you think you could cast the light spell? I have a feeling we're not alone.)_

"Can I wait?" Danger's tone seemed even, but underneath Remus could hear bitter loathing and a vicious fury, eleven years caged but as ruthless as the day it was conceived. "If I understand you correctly, dementors enjoy people like him..." Her eyes went to the man at their feet as he stirred and groaned. "The same way he enjoyed me."

"Danger, no," Remus said intently. "You can't mean that—"

"Can't I?" Danger stared down at the man coldly. _(Play along,) _she whispered without looking at him. _(No, I don't mean it—not the way he'll think I do. But I want him to know just a little of what I knew. The fear, and the helplessness, and wanting so badly to die, because then it would be over. Only you can't, and it goes on.)_

_(For you, it is over,) _Remus told her, drawing her close and standing up. _(For him...it's just beginning.)_

xXxXx

Sirius dropped to one knee next to his fiancée and his godson, the first of whom was holding the second, the second of whom was covered in blood from what looked horribly like a mortal wound and a possibly-mortal one, and both of whom were glowing a bright pulsing blue.

_Whatever that light is, it's keeping Harry alive. Aletha's keeping Harry alive. I don't have any idea how—just keep doing whatever you're doing, Letha, just bring him back safe to me, and don't die on me while you're doing it..._

Carefully, making sure not to let Aletha's hands slip from Harry's face and shoulder, Sirius gathered them both close, cuddling Harry much the same way he had when Harry was tiny, planting a kiss on Aletha's cheek. _The first things I lost in Azkaban were holding baby Harry and kissing Aletha, and here I've got them both back, and I might lose them both at once if whatever she's doing goes wrong..._

_No. It won't. I won't let it._

_Damned if I know what I can do to help, though. Harry's lost so much blood, I don't know how he can survive this—he's gone and ruined his chance at being Seeker for England, too—I'm not a Healer, or even an ex-Healer-trainee, that's Letha—_

The blue light encompassed him too, a corner of Sirius's mind noticed around the mental monologue, and now it was pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, and a few moments of adjusting his position and counting told him that it was the same rhythm that presently governed Harry's heart, and Aletha's, and the burning feeling in his veins was easing...

xXxXx

He fought through the last layer of foggy incomprehension into consciousness again, and wondered why he'd bothered. The only difference between the sensations his body was registering was whether the pain was dull or sharp.

_There was a woman. She attacked us. I caught her, then began to retaliate—and like a fool, never stopped to consider that she might not have been alone..._

Her face, for a brief instant, had seemed familiar, but his memories were coming up blank. Perhaps she merely resembled someone he had known.

Light shone through his eyelids, and he wondered if perhaps rescue was near. Judging by the way he felt, he would need it.

One eye opened. The other followed it.

A man and a woman stood nearby, within sight of him, both looking back at him. A silver wolf prowled around them, casting its own light—a Patronus, then. They must be Aurors, come to check on the prison.

_Why are they not with me? Guarding me?_

A rattling breath was drawn nearby. Then another.

The woman's face lit with fierce glee. The man, his arm around her, wore no expression at all, but his body language mirrored the woman's.

Waves of chill swept over him, and his arm burned as a voice began to shout in panic.

"_The Dark Lord is dead! We've lost! We'll all be killed, or thrown to the dementors..."_

He had scoffed at the idea then, but now dementors surrounded him. He could feel them pulling at his soul, leeching away all that he was—his memories began to shred, and the more that he clung to them, the faster they faded...

A dementor leaned over him, gray-skinned hands rising to its hood. He tried to scream, but the sound caught in his throat and choked him.

_No—no—it cannot end this way—_

Merciful nothingness wiped away the image of the eyeless face descending towards his.

xXxXx

Strong black wings beat against the air. It was fortunate, reflected their owner, that she'd used her Patronus recently, because winged horses were one of the very few creatures out there capable of both carrying passengers and getting themselves out of freefall. _And I don't think I'd have remembered that in time otherwise._

_Now here's hoping I get the right child, since they look so alike...one of them must be Voldemort the way he looked at Harry's age..._

_...please don't tell me Ginny's following Harry down. Please._

Her guardian angel wasn't listening today, apparently.

A hawk's cry split the air, and Aletha was glad to see it fall past her, snap its wings open, and catch Ginny astride—_and I am not, repeat **not** going to wonder how a girl can ride birdback—_then go after the boy nearer Ginny, which meant Aletha didn't have to worry about which to catch, she only had to go for the boy nearer her. _One of us is going to catch Snakeface—except he isn't exactly snakey-faced right now—but it's more than worth it if it means Harry stays alive—_

A sudden weight on her back told her she'd caught him. Whichever him it was. _Now to get back to solid ground..._

Suddenly solid ground was only a few feet below. For certain values of solid, anyway, given that Aletha's hooves sank three inches into the sand. The children slid off her back with a pair of thumps, and Aletha shaped herself human again with a relieved sigh. _Now there's only one question: how do we get off this beach back to the land of the living?_

_Wait—children?_

_Okay, two questions._

Aletha turned to look at them. The pale child lying twisted on the sand, one hand caught between two rocks and washed by the waves, appeared to be mostly not-there, oddly—everything but his head, neck, and that arm was out of focus. The child kneeling next to him looked perfectly fine, but—_What in heaven's name is my daughter doing here?_

_Actually, on second thought, I won't ask. I don't think I want to know._

"Come on," Aletha ordered. "Get up. We're leaving."

"No."

Aletha folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"Mama—he's hurt. Bad. He always has been. And if we can make him better, and make it so no one knows it was him who was hurting people, even him—and we _can_—then we should, we _have _to, and I'm not leaving till we do." She stood, but only to dart to the water's edge and claim a white arm from the surf.

_I think I'm going to regret this._

Aletha waded into the water to rescue the boy's other loose body parts.

xXxXx

"Go get it," Remus whispered, and his Patronus dashed forward, knocking the dementor away from Lucius Malfoy—

_Certainly the last person I thought I'd ever be guarding. But I'm in no position to order him Kissed._

_Though it was certainly satisfying to watch him think he was about to be._

The Patronus circled Malfoy twice, warning the other dementors back, then loped back towards Remus, tongue lolling as if it considered itself quite clever.

_(Whenever you're ready, love.)_ Remus closed his hand around Danger's, which held Lily Potter's wand high, and opened his mind and magic to her.

"_Lumos Purpurea!_"Danger cried aloud, and _threw_ magic through the wand—her own, Remus's, the extra that had come seemingly from nowhere—Remus threw up his free arm to protect his face and Danger's as night turned to lavender noon—

The perpetual chill of Azkaban vanished as darkness fell once more.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	19. To Heaven or To Hell

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow and snippets of songs borrowed without permission from Jessica Andrews and Lea Salonga, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 19: To Heaven or To Hell

Thud.

_Ow._

Harry opened his eyes, rolled over, sat up, and looked around. Blue sky. Green grass. A light breeze. No one in sight.

_If this is heaven, I think I'd prefer hell. God knows it'd be less lonely._

"HARRY!"

Harry's head snapped around. _I take that back. _"What are you _doing_ here?"

"Coming for you, of course. Now come on, let's get out of here."

"No."

Ginny stared at him.

Ron landed with a thump next to Ginny. A moment later, Hermione landed on top of Ron. _Funny, but they. Should. Not. Be. Here!_

"What are you doing here?" Harry repeated.

"Same as you," Ron answered, slightly muffled by Hermione's hair. "Getting out of here."

"No," Harry said again. "You three go. I'm staying."

"Harry, if you stay, you're dead," Ginny pointed out.

"That's kind of the point. Go away."

"_Why_?" "Harry, _no_—" "We need you, mate—"

"Do you?" Harry demanded. _Maybe if I get them mad at me, they'll leave—_ "_Do_ you need me? Do you really need me? Or do you need a hero? Do you need the Boy Who Lived? Because if that's who you're after, I should probably point out that technically I'm not the Boy Who Lived anymore—"

"I was thinking I needed my best friend," Ron said, getting to his feet. "The first person who ever looked at me and saw me, instead of just another Weasley. Even Mum forgets I'm there sometimes. You never did." He shrugged. "Be good to have a hero around, but I want my friend back first."

"My friend too," Hermione added. "You're probably the only reason I didn't put down roots in the library, Harry. I was afraid Hogwarts would be just like elementary school—I wouldn't have any friends with the other kids, just with the teachers, and that's not the same—but first you and Ron came to help me on Halloween, and then you stayed."

"And you were nice to me." Ginny stepped closer. "You didn't have to be nice to me, you know. Most boys would have made fun of me for having a crush on them, or pretended to like me back to see what I'd do. You never did anything like that. You're a good person, Harry. Maybe that makes you a hero all by itself, without anything else."

"Then you don't need me," Harry said, and he could hear how rough his voice was. "You don't need me at all. Ron's hardly going to let you spend your life in the library, Hermione—Hermione's never going to forget you're there, Ron—Ginny, you never needed me in the first place, you just wanted someone to write pathetic love poetry about—"

"Harry—" Ginny reached out to grab his arm. He wrenched away.

"Will you just _go_ already? You don't need to die—none of you do—"

_Here's hoping you're not already dead—_

"You don't need to die either, Harry!" Hermione yelled.

"Yes I _do_!" _Oh God I didn't want to tell you, I didn't want to see the look in your eyes—_ "Think, Hermione—did I ever actually say we'd gotten all the Horcruxes?"

Hermione started counting on her fingers. "Diary, you got weeks ago, wand, Ms. Letha got, ring, Mr. Black got, locket, Aunt Danger and Uncle Moony got, cup, the basilisk got ages ago—that's all of them, isn't it?"

"Which of those," Harry asked quietly, "is the one he made the night he killed my parents?"

"I didn't see any of those when we were watching you dream about that night—did you, Ron? Ginny?"

Two shaking heads answered her. "He brought that bronze neck-thing to make into one," Ron said. "But he didn't manage it..."

Ginny was dead white behind the freckles. "This is what you meant when you said you wouldn't live through this," she whispered. "Isn't it?"

Harry nodded. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—_

"Voldemort made six Horcruxes," he told Ron, who wouldn't put the pieces together fast enough on his own, and Hermione, who was probably doing her damnedest not to solve this particular puzzle. "The last one went wrong, but he didn't notice it at the time because he was being blown to kingdom come. Part of what went wrong is that he tore his soul using his _own_ death instead of mine. Part is that he only tore it, he didn't tear the bit all the way off. And part is that the soul bit didn't attach to what he meant it to attach to."

Harry brushed his bangs out of the way, exactly the way he'd done not even two years ago, when Ron asked if he really had the infamous scar.

_I take back wishing I could say goodbye—this is just making it hurt us all more—_

"This is the last Horcrux," he told them. "That's why I have to die."

xXxXx

Alex winced at the sudden shock/anger/pain from Hermione and Ron both, and the echoes through Ron from Ginny. _What the hell just happened?_

But there was no shift, no snap in the connections that bound them together, no reverberations that might be from the breaking of the bond between Harry and Ginny, so everyone was probably all right for the moment. Not that he could tell without falling asleep himself.

_Which I do not want to do. As long as I stay connected to them but fully conscious, I know they can find their way back._

_They say Sleep is the twin of Death. They're not kidding._

_And Neenie and her friends are down there with one foot on either side of the dividing line, and all that's keeping them from crossing it is me...well, me and Meghan..._

Meghan looked positively surreal right now, between the blue glow emanating from her and surrounding all five kids and the fact that she was kneeling with eyes closed, one hand holding Ginny's, the other holding Alex's to complete the circle, head nodding in time with the music on the radio, lips moving in sync with the lyrics, and completely oblivious to the world. "What was I thinking, baby? I should've seen the writing on the wall, never thought you'd ever leave me, now I know, what were you trying to tell me? I thought about everything you said ever since you walked away boy, now I know..."

_This,_ Alex decided,_ is the most bizarre thing I have ever been part of._

_Counting that dream of adventure in Alexandria._

xXxXx

Danger gulped in the night air with relief. _(It's so weird not being able to breathe.)_

_(I'm used to it.)_ Remus glanced around the kitchen Harry'd shown them. _(Obviously any battling didn't come in here.)_

_(And there can't be anything happening now, otherwise we'd hear something...)_ Danger looked toward the kitchen exit nearer the refrigerator. The white walls had a pulsing bluish cast to them... _(What's that glow?)_

_(No idea.)_ Remus took two steps to that wall and edged around it, wand first, then stopped short. _(I don't believe this.)_

_(Believe what?)_ Danger asked, doubting, given his tone, that she really wanted to know.

Then she was seeing through his eyes—seeing Aletha and Sirius and Harry and blue light and blood _everywhere_ and a disembodied _arm_ on the _floor_—

"Oh my _God_."

xXxXx

Ginny stared at Harry.

"Harry, no..." Hermione whispered.

"Why didn't you _tell_ us?" Ron demanded. "We could've done _some_thing—if nothing else, you could live in my head till we figured out a way to kill him that doesn't mean you die too—"

"DAMMIT HARRY YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE!" Ginny screamed.

_(This is exactly why I didn't tell you!)_ Harry screamed silently. _(I didn't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you—)_

His audible voice was much calmer, though much harsher as well. "Too late."

_Too late too late _"What do you _mean_ too late?" Ginny yelled. "You can come back with me, we'll find some way to make sure you're all right—"

"_That's not going to happen!_" Harry's face and voice were part terrified, part pleading, part furious, part stubborn. "Me being a Horcrux is exactly why I managed to sort-of live this long—I died _days_ ago, Ginny—the _only_ thing keeping me from flying away to the afterlife was that _his_ soul is part of _my_ soul, and has been for twelve evie _years_, so as far as the world's concerned _his_ Horcruxes are _my_ Horcruxes so I couldn't actually die any more than he could, and now if I _don't_ die then not only does he still have a Horcrux, he's still _alive_, and _damn it_ Ginny, he killed Mum and Dad and I've got a chance to take him down with me and I am _not_ letting him get away and come kill you too!"

"And what if we don't care if he comes after us?" Ron shouted. "What if we don't care about us maybe dying, if the other choice is you die for sure?"

"What if we just want our friend back?" Hermione added.

Harry opened and closed his mouth. Ginny could feel his wave of confused emotions, astonishment that anyone would say that about _him_, pain for their pain, then hatred, hating himself for what he was about to say, to do, for how much more it would hurt them—

"Sometimes we can't get what we want."

Ginny started to say something, but Harry was still talking, almost rapid-fire. "It's like chess, Ron, sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece to win the game—or Hermione, like a really good book, it's sort of cheating if some of the characters don't die—"

"You can't sacrifice your bloody king!" Ron yelled, over Hermione's anguished "This isn't chess or a book, Harry! This is _real!_"

A moment of silence.

"What about me?" Ginny asked. "What were you going to try with me?" She met Harry's eyes and held them with her own.

Harry drew breath, and stopped. Started again, and stopped. Then he turned away. "I'm sorry," he said almost too quietly to hear. "I'm sorry I'm not who you want me to be."

_(But you **are **who I want you to be, you idiot—)_ Ginny moved to hug him or punch him or drag him back to the land of the living, she didn't know which, probably all three, and found herself unable to go forward. The cinnamon scent of the magic told her why. _(Harry, you bastard! Let me go!)_

_(You can go any time you like,)_ he answered. _(It's just that the only way you can go is away.)_

Ginny took a step backward, unhindered, then tried forward, and couldn't. _(Harry!)_

_(Just go away and leave me here! All of you!)_

_(I won't leave you!)_

_(You have to! If you stay too long, you won't have enough strength to get out, and **I'm not worth dying for!**)_

He turned and ran.

Ginny screamed after him, at the top of her lungs, "_YOU STUPID, SELFISH **COWARD**!_"

xXxXx

_Why is everything tangled in knots?_

Meghan tugged at a loop of the sicky-green thread—little farther—little more—the loop came free. _How did this green get mixed in with this red anyway? The red's too orangey for it not to clash, and having them next to each other makes my head hurt. I don't need my head hurting now, it's hard enough to keep all this from disappearing on me as it is..._

_Ew slimy EW there is black stuff all in this green thread it is all over my hands ew ew **ew**—_

_I wonder if I can play with my dreams like Mrs. Danger can? Because then I could wash this off me, and get it all off of this too..._

A moment's concentration brought a wave of salt water crashing down on Meghan and her project, which rather resembled a patchwork quilt, except that it seemed to be crocheted.

_Oooh that felt weird. Weird good, I think, but weird._

_And now there is this giant black **blob** underneath my afghan._

Meghan picked up the blob, shuddering at the feel, and hurled it as far as she could, then summoned another wave to splash over her and the afghan and make the slimy feeling go away.

_That felt good._

_Hey, the green's a different shade now...doesn't clash nearly as much...looks Christmasy, actually...it's not nearly as badly tangled with the red anymore, either. Huh._

The green came free with barely any effort. Meghan pondered what to do with it for two seconds, then shrugged and tossed it aside.

_This is pretty, the way the two shades of red mix together, and how the edges of the orange and cream are woven in with the edge of the red, and the blue and purple around the outside should look hideous but it doesn't...weird how all the colors keep trying to fade away, too, but it's all right, I can keep them nice and bright..._

xXxXx

"Oh my _God_."

Sirius looked up at the sound of Danger's voice. Remus stood in the doorway, staring. "Am I to take it that your mission was more successful than mine?" Sirius asked.

"What _happened_?" Remus asked hoarsely.

"We kicked Death Eater arse and Harry tried to kill himself," Sirius answered flatly. "Aletha's making sure he doesn't succeed. I don't have the faintest bloody idea what she's doing, but I'm tied up in it somehow and she's draining power off me, for which she has retroactive permission, and something tells me that if we're separated now, they're both going to die."

"And maybe you too," Danger said, coming around Remus to drop to one knee next to Sirius and brush Harry's bangs away from his forehead.

"And maybe me too," Sirius acknowledged. _Which wouldn't bother me one tiny bit, if Harry and Letha died—but I've got Meghan to worry about now too—_ "Maybe we'll all three die anyway, I have no idea whether she can pull this off before we both run out of strength—promise me," he said, looking straight at Remus. "Promise me you'll take care of Meghan."

"Of course," Remus and Danger said in unison.

"And here's hoping we won't need to," Remus added alone.

Sirius looked down. "Yeah. Here's hoping."

"You said she's draining you," Danger said. "Can you control how much she's draining you?"

"I don't know," Sirius said, wondering why she was asking. It wasn't like he'd want to give her _less_, after all...

"Try giving her enough that you think they'll be fine without you for a few minutes," Danger suggested.

"I'll Apparate them back to Crozer Street," Remus continued, "and you follow if you think you can get there, and I'll come back for Danger, and for you if I have to."

Sirius blinked. _That could work._ He reached for the familiar feeling of his magic and pushed as much as he could in the direction it was steadily draining in.

_Blue got brighter. Pretty._

Black.

xXxXx

_Thump._

Aletha hid a snicker. It was always amusing to see the winning side in a tug-of-war fall in the dirt when the losing side let go of the rope, or in this case, fall in the sand when the pale child's arm was finally freed of the rocks.

"_Mama_..."

The indignant tone only made it funnier. "Sorry, sweetheart." Aletha picked up the child, what there was of him, and carried him to the pile of child parts out of reach of the waves. _Now to put Humpty Dumpty together again...and try not to think about what everyone will say when I tell them about this..._

xXxXx

"_Alohomora_," Remus said, hoping Aletha hadn't spelled her door against it—no, the lock clicked open, and the door was promptly kicked open, Remus's arms being filled with woman and child. He stumbled over the doorsill, got his footing back, and headed into the back room.

Alex looked up. "Hi, Dad, I think something happened to Harry and Ginny followed him down and Neenie and Ron went after them to keep them on this side of the Styx, or browbeat Charon into bringing them back if they already crossed—what did who do to him, and why's she glowing too?"

"I don't know and I don't know," Remus said, lowering Aletha and Harry onto the floor next to the pile of blue-lit children. "It looks like someone hit Harry with two cutting curses—hence the blood all over me—and Sirius is of the opinion that whatever Aletha is doing is keeping Harry alive—I need to go get him and Danger, I'll be back in a few minutes—"

_(Why,)_ he asked conversationally, doing the turn to begin Apparation, _(do I have the feeling that something has just gone horribly wrong?)_

xXxXx

Alex stared after his father, then turned to stare at Meghan, still glowing bright enough blue to encompass all five of them, then looked back at Ms. Letha, whose blue glow extended no further than her own skin, and Harry, bloodstained, pale, and still.

_Whatever Meghan's doing affects all five of us. But what Ms. Letha's doing...it's not touching Harry at all._

"Through the darkest desert, through the deepest snow, forward, always forward I go," Meghan sang under her breath, swaying back and forth with the music. "What a journey it has been, and the end is not in sight, but the stars are out tonight, and they're bound to guide my way..."

A sudden chill—_great, something just scared Neenie half to—yeah, 'half to death', that's good, this is not **helping**, Alex—please be all right, Neenie. Harry. Ginny. Ron._

_Please._

xXxXx

_(We'll just have to cross our fingers and hope for the best, I suppose,)_ Danger replied, helping Sirius sit up. Half-conscious was better than not-conscious, but not by much. _(...why are you laughing at me?)_

_(I'll explain later. Hit him with Enervate, look, here's how...)_

xXxXx

_Why me why did they follow me don't they know they'll die why do they care whether I die I'm not worth dying for I'm not worth anything why did they come after me I can't go back I can't I don't want him to come back I don't care that I have to die to make sure he doesn't come back it's worth it if nobody else has to see their parents or friends die it's definitely worth it because I'm not worth anything otherwise all I ever did that's worth anything is saving Ginny and killing Horcruxes and killing him and killing me they're better off without me they just have to go back and leave me here and they'll be fine they'll all be all right they don't need me they just needed a hero well their hero's done his job and he's leaving but why does it have to be me I'm nobody I never did anything that was Mum it was all Mum but she died and I didn't so I get the credit and the blame and the burden well it's over now he's dead I'm dead like Mum and Dad where are they I'm alone I don't want to be alone but I can't go back I can't and they can't follow me they better not be able to follow me I don't want them to die not for me I'm not worth it I'm not worth anything why do they care about me they shouldn't care about me nobody should care about me nobody does care about me not even Mum and Dad or they'd be here why aren't they here where are they—_

A snarl derailed Harry's train of thought. Harry turned his head to stare at the tiger charging past him, heading in the direction from which he'd come, though he didn't dare slow his run through the mist to gawk.

Then he collided with a large and solid figure and landed on his backside on the fortunately soft ground.

The figure resolved itself into a tall spectacled man with messy black hair. "And just where are we going in such a hurry?" he asked, folding his arms.

Harry's chest seized up, making it impossible to draw enough breath to speak.

"You all right there, Harry-beary?" the man asked concernedly, sitting down beside him.

_Harry-beary?_ But there wasn't any space in his brain for indignation, not now—

Harry finally managed to get a single word out, one that somehow included all the hurt and fear and caring and sudden, shocked joy.

"Dad?"

xXxXx

"Come on—Harry—let us—through," Ron growled, punctuating the sentence by thumping his fists on the invisible wall, making red ripples radiate out from where he connected with the barrier.

Hermione glanced at Ginny, who was engaged in trying to chisel her way through the wall. "Anyone else having déjà vu?"

Ginny glared back. "This is Harry's _life_ on the line, not just his mental health. Shut up."

Hermione shut up and went back to pushing at the wall. She'd tried backing up and running at it, but all that accomplished was to put her four feet behind Ron and Ginny.

_Masterpiece, Harry. Also counterproductive, if the idea is to keep us alive and let you die, because I am **not **leaving unless you're coming with me, and I have no doubt that Ron and Ginny feel the same..._

"Something's coming," Ginny said suddenly.

Hermione shivered at the chill running down her spine. She turned.

Tall, ghostly pale, skeletally thin, eyes like rubies glowing in the eye sockets of a skull—

_Oh shit._

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	20. Let Not Light See

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow and a snippet of a song borrowed without permission from Sara Evans, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 20: Let Not Light See

Sitting cross-legged on the sand, Aletha smoothed her patient's hair. _I think I just performed a miracle. And nobody who doesn't know the situation will believe me, and nobody who does know the situation will be pleased._

"Mama, take this—"

Aletha looked up, took the end of the blue robe sleeve in one hand, and tugged. A moment later, she was holding a duplicate of the robes worn by the grumpy girl who'd just landed on her backside on the sand again. "Your own fault, you realize," she pointed out, maneuvering the robes onto the child in her arms, who needed them.

_Add to the Things I Shall Not Ask About list the question of how this child went from looking like Harry might if he'd grown up in Azkaban to looking like Sirius did twenty years ago except with skin the shade of Meghan's..._

The boy stirred and opened brown eyes. "Mama?" he whispered fearfully. "I had a nightmare—I was hurting people, and I _liked_ it—"

"Shh," Aletha whispered, "shh, my strong one, shh, it's all right." She passed a hand across the boy's forehead and down along his cheek. "It didn't happen, it's not real. Mama's here. Everything's all right."

_Yeah. Definitely pulled off a miracle. And she was right, I had to do this._

_Now to figure out how I'm to explain myself..._

Aletha stood and set the boy on his feet, leaving one arm around him to comfort and guide. The other arm gathered in the girl. "Come on," she said to both of them. "Let's go home."

xXxXx

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw the blue light around Aletha wink out, and saw her slump over. He snapped his head around so quickly he was half-surprised he didn't break his neck. _Letha, no, please no, I can't lose you too—_

She stirred.

_Oh thank God._

"I think," Aletha said tiredly, "that I have just done the craziest and most worthwhile thing of my life."

"I'd love to hear what you mean by that," Sirius remarked, "seeing as what I'd like to _think_ you mean by that failed miserably."

Aletha blinked.

"You were glowing," Remus said from where he sat slumped against the end of the couch. "Much as Meghan is now. Sirius thinks that glow was connected to whatever you were doing to keep Harry alive, which seems a logical conclusion, given that when we arrived at the Creeveys', Harry was also glowing. I Side-Alonged both of you back here and immediately left to fetch Danger. When we got back, you were still glowing, but Harry was not. And now..." He waved in the appropriate general direction and put his head back in his hands.

Aletha lunged for Harry's remaining wrist. Sirius could see by the look of horror on her face the precise moment at which she discovered what the others already knew.

xXxXx

"Hermione!" Ginny yelled. "That shiny stick you made for Harry would be very welcome about now!"

Hermione shook herself. _No time to panic. Lives to save. Including mine._ She sketched the Sword of Gryffindor in her mind, including every detail she could recall Harry mentioning, and threw it from her thoughts to Ginny's hand, exactly as she had to Harry's only a few nights ago. Then, remembering the shape she'd seen before she changed the parameters of the dream, she reached for Ron, imagined, and twisted...

xXxXx

Ron lunged, knocking Voldemort's arm so that the spell he threw at Ginny missed by a mile, tripped, felt the world shift about him in a familiar way, flapped out of the way of Voldemort's next spell—_wait. Flapped?_

"Ron, go!" Hermione yelled, pointing back and up. "Get Aunt Danger—get all the adults—"

_Can't leave you—_

"GO! We'll be—" Hermione broke off to do something that redirected a spell away from her. "We'll be fine, just go!"

_You better be fine._

Ron threw all his strength into getting his feathered tail out of there.

xXxXx

"Dad?"

"Who were you expecting? Merlin Ambrosius?"

Harry laughed, a bit surprised that he still could. "No...no, I just..."

"Just what?"

Harry shook his head and half leaned, half fell against his father, burying his face in his shoulder. _I don't want to answer that, I don't want him to know I wasn't expecting to see him at all anymore...I am not going to cry, dammit, I am **not**..._

Strong arms circled him, squeezed, then drew back. "Look at me, Harry."

Harry tilted his head back till he could meet Dad's hazel eyes.

Dad did _not_ look happy.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking."

Harry could tell from the tone that it wasn't a question but an order to explain himself. "Lots of things," he said quietly, looking away. "Nothing."

"Somehow I suspected the latter," Dad said dryly. "Look at me." Unwillingly, Harry looked up—being interrogated by the Inquisition was not something that had ever figured in his daydreams of seeing his parents again. "Tell me what the lots of things were."

"I'm a Horcrux," Harry began. "If I didn't die, there's no way Voldemort would be able to."

"Nor did you mention this fact to anyone who could have found a way around killing you," Dad countered. "And I assure you they would have."

"He stole my body and turned it into his body."

"And you couldn't steal it back because..."

"I _tried_. Besides, he could probably do the same thing to other people, except they wouldn't be able to stick around like I did. So even without the Horcruxes he'd be immortal."

"Except that without the Horcruxes, the first time he tried evicting someone else and taking over like he did you, there'd be a split second when he'd find himself with nothing to hold him to the world, and he'd die."

Harry paused to sort out his thoughts. "He was going to kill Letha or Sirius. I had to stop him."

"Commendable, but sending that spell into the wall would've worked just as well as sending it into you, and that's not the one that killed you in any case."

"I couldn't stay much longer anyway. Not without killing Ginny or Alex or someone the way he killed Quirrell."

"You weren't possessing any of them in the same way Voldemort was possessing Quirrell," Dad pointed out. "Quirrell's possession was completely involuntary. Maybe you didn't exactly give any of your friends a choice about you hiding in their heads, but any of them could have kicked you out if they'd tried. Quirrell didn't have that option. And whenever you tapped into part of one of their brains, to see through their eyes or use their hands or whatnot, you did give them a choice. And you deliberately caused no damage to any of them whatsoever. Voldemort destroyed the parts of Quirrell that were annoying him, for example his conscience and his free will. Are you seeing the difference yet?"

Harry nodded.

"I'll grant that you couldn't have known any of that," Dad went on, "but you did know, because your redheaded lady-friend told you, that it is far from impossible to transfigure a tree into a human body closely resembling yours, which you could then claim as your own, making the one Voldemort stole both superfluous and unwanted. Which would solve your initial problem nicely."

Harry stared at his knees. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"Good, you're beginning to realize it. Your mother claims it's genetic and it accompanies the hair." Dad ruffled Harry's. Harry laughed weakly. "You're doing better than I was, by the way, I was a month shy of sixteen when it finally dawned on me. Continue, please. All your reasons."

_Those **were** all my reasons..._

"If nothing else, Harry, be honest with yourself," Dad said softly.

Harry sighed. Maybe there _was_ something else... "I'm supposed to be a hero," he mumbled. "I don't know why. I haven't ever done anything heroic. Not even saving Ginny, really—I mostly did that so I wouldn't have to see the look on Ron's face any longer. I thought I was being a hero by keeping the Sorcerer's Stone away from Voldemort, but he'd never have gotten it out of the Mirror. I did that. I practically gifted him the damn rock. That's not heroic, that's just stupid. I...guess I was thinking this was my chance to do something that would really truly make me a hero."

"And..." Dad prompted. "I've been watching you your whole life, you realize. I know exactly how much you like being made much of."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, dying a hero's death means I won't have to put up with being the life of the victory party."

"Wouldn't be much of a party," Dad commented. "Not at Crozer Street. Not without you there."

"What do they need me for?" Harry said bitterly. "They don't even _know_ me, really, except Ron and Hermione, and Ron's got his family and Hermione's got hers and they've got each other. They don't need me at all. Maybe they needed a hero—well, they got one, and now they don't need one and they don't have one and they can just get on with the hero's funeral and have a party after because the wicked wizard's dead."

"You already had this conversation with Ron and Hermione and Ginny," Dad observed. "You weren't even listening to their side of it, were you?"

"Not really, no. We've already established I'm an idiot. What's the next item on the Make-Harry-Feel-Even-More-Worthless list?"

"Is that what this is really about," Dad said flatly. "You were thinking that if anyone had to die to make sure Voldemort died, the best person would be you, because you're worthless. I'll have to find a proper way in which to express my delight that Vernon and Petunia put that idea in your head. And I eagerly anticipate the day when I can properly thank Marjorie and Dudley for helping it along." He took a breath and unclenched his fist. "Harry, you're not worthless. You're anything but. There are a thousand reasons. The only one you're likely to listen to at the moment is you're all that's left of Lily and me. You're the only one who can keep our family alive."

"So you only care about me because of what I can do for you," fell out of Harry's mouth before he thought to shut it. "You're just like everyone else."

"God, no—goddammit, Harry, that's not how I meant it—look at me, damn you. _Look at me._"

Harry looked up.

"If I was given the chance to live over the day I died, I'd make the same choice I did then." Dad put his hand on Harry's shoulder with a fierce tenderness. "Because you're worth more to me than I am. You always have been, since about sixty seconds after Lily told me you were there. And before you ask," he interjected, "I spent those sixty seconds wondering if she was pranking me."

Harry laughed.

"Actually, I shouldn't say I'd make exactly the same choices," Dad mused. "If I couldn't talk the powers that be into letting me have the whole last week of October again, so I could throttle Wormtail instead of trusting him with the two things most precious to me—you and Lily—then I'd at least make sure I put up a better fight. I wasn't exactly thinking as clearly as I should have been, you see. I forgot I could do this." He pointed, and a fireball sprang from his fingertip and went spiraling off into the distance.

"Cool," Harry whispered.

"Actually no. Hot." A small fireball appeared next to Harry's cheek, and he flinched back. "Very hot. As you can tell." The fireball disappeared. Dad frowned. "Where was I? Oh yeah. You thinking you're worthless. Well, to the Dursleys, you are. But then the Dursleys' collective brain is rather smaller than a Snitch. As proven by the fact that they don't see, they never saw, what an intelligent, loyal, courageous, noble, wonderful young man you are."

Harry felt himself going cherry-red.

"Don't blush, it's true. Inherited idiocy notwithstanding. And they never saw it—well, that's their loss. I see it. Your mother sees it. Your godfather sees it. Your friends see it. I don't know why you don't see it—though come to think of it, that may be just as well, the last thing you need is a big head—but the point is, _we_ see it, and that's why we love you."

Harry went still.

"No one's ever said that to you before, have they?" Dad realized.

Harry shook his head, unable to speak.

"I do love you. Always have, always will."

A long moment passed. Then Dad stood. "Come on, let's go find your mother. I know she's got a couple things she wants to say to you."

Harry didn't move. "There's...one more reason," he said quietly.

Dad dropped to one knee next to him, ready to listen.

Harry didn't look at him. "You said you've been watching me my whole life," he went on in the same tone. "So you probably know I used to daydream about Hero Dad. I don't know how much Hero Dad is like you, but...a few days ago, when I was dreaming about the night you died, I realized...I really do have Hero Dad. And Hero Mum. And you both, when you died, you made it count for something. I didn't think it through, really, not till just now...but I guess I was thinking, even if my living wasn't worth anything, I wanted to make sure my dying would be." He turned to meet Dad's eyes. "Like you."

Dad went red.

xXxXx

Dive left—swing right—eep, duck—_how does he **do** this?—well, of **course** he's better than a pair of teenagers, Ginny_—dodge, swing—

A snarl from the left. She looked. A tiger—_a **tiger**?_—leaped from what looked like nowhere to pin Lord Tall-Pale-and-Ugly to the ground, then rolled off him, leaving long bloody scratches where its claws had touched him.

Then a woman stood where the tiger had just been, a tallish redheaded woman with a fierce expression in her green eyes. "Back off, girls," she ordered. "Tommy here is about to find out exactly why hurting a mama tiger's cub is a very bad idea."

xXxXx

"Ron's coming back," Alex said suddenly, breaking the—not silence, Meghan was still singing along to the radio, but the stillness. "Nobody else is—I wonder—"

Ron went from lying on the floor to sitting straight up in an instant. "Mrs. Danger," he gasped out. "Ginny, Hermione—they're fighting Voldemort—"

The adults exchanged glances. "I'm going in," Sirius said at once.

"Not without me," Aletha said.

"I'll get you both in," Danger said. She glanced at Remus. _(Your turn to sit at home with the kids and make sure nobody gets into mischief.)_

_(Hmph.)_ "_Suraremeli_," Remus said, pointing his wand at Danger. She collapsed into sleep. Again with Sirius, and again with Aletha—

_(Interesting choice of setting for this dream,)_ Danger commented. _(We seem to be rappelling down a mountain.)_

_(Interesting as in good, interesting as in bad, interesting as in indifferent, interesting as in weird, or interesting as in I feel as if I should be commenting on this but I can't think of anything to say?)_

_(...Shut up.)_

xXxXx

Hermione grabbed a handful of the popcorn she'd dreamed up. It was incredible, really, how much watching these two go at it was like watching an action movie, though in most action movies, the villain was halfway competent and the hero wasn't a tigress who kept changing to human just in time to send a spell to deflect something aimed at either Hermione or Ginny.

"I feel like I should be helping," Ginny muttered, reaching for the popcorn.

"I think Mrs. Potter has the situation under control," Hermione muttered back.

Mrs. Potter took a few steps back. Hermione blinked as a six-foot fireball came out of nowhere and went right through Voldemort, reducing him to a charred skeleton. It did not, unfortunately, reduce his ability to move or cast spells, but judging by the way he moved, it hurt like hellfire.

"Showoff," Mrs. Potter muttered, then became the tiger again for another leap.

Hermione refilled the popcorn bag.

xXxXx

Dad blinked. His eyes swirled with blue, the exact same way Danger's and Moony's swirled brown and blue when they conversed. He blinked again, and the blue was gone, leaving only hazel.

"What did who just say?" Harry wondered.

"I've just been informed that since you've been involved in so bloody many impossible things this week, there's no reason not to add another. And given the present situation, this may not be strictly impossible anyway."

"Which tells me not a hell of a lot."

"It's a family tradition," Dad explained. "A little ceremony. Usually happens when Potter kids hit seventeen, but we're not going to get another shot at this."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"You wouldn't believe me anyway, probably...and I can't remember the words..." His eyes swirled blue again. "...ah, right. Stand up," he ordered, getting to his feet. Harry obeyed. "Now, tradition is that the parent says a few words first, but I think we've had enough mushy stuff for one day."

_Mushy stuff indeed,_ Harry thought. _More like...what's the word for feeling all the emotions you can feel, all at once, and then getting it all out and have done with it?_

Dad placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "By the power that is in me and by the blood that we share," he said formally, "I do release any bindings that may be on the power of the line of Godric Gryffindor within you, Harry James Potter, my blood son. I charge you to use this power always for good, never for evil, and to remember that even the very wise cannot see all ends." His hands tightened for a moment. "And also to remember that I love you."

A peculiar feeling ran through Harry's body, starting at Dad's hands and working its way down and up simultaneously. It was like a shiver, except that a shiver was cold, and this was hot, burning hot—but it didn't hurt...it rather _tickled_...

_**What** did he say about Godric Gryffindor?_

"_Now_ will you tell me what this is?"

Dad looked sheepish. "Should've said that first, shouldn't I? Well, remember how Dumbledore said 'only a true Gryffindor' could get that sword? He meant, but I don't think he knows he meant, that only a _blood_ Gryffindor could get that sword. Only a descendant of Godric's. And since you don't have kids, that means just you."

"...okay."

Dad half-smiled. "Bit much to process, huh?"

"You could say that. What's this 'power of the line'?"

"Sirius told you about how Godric could control fire, and so could his children, and so could theirs. And so can I—" Dad snapped his fingers and was suddenly holding a ball of fire. "And so can you. Except neither Lily nor I had any desire to try to raise a child who set things on fire whenever things weren't going his way, so I bound that power. And then we died and you went to Petunia, and I started wishing I hadn't bothered, because you wouldn't have taken long to figure out the connection between you being annoyed and fires starting, and that alone would have scared Vernon and Petunia into making sure you never got annoyed. Which could have turned you into a little tyrant," Dad mused, "but I don't think so. You're not the type."

"Thanks." _But what's the point of this?_ Harry wondered. _Dead is **dead**. Being able to play with fire would be nice if I was alive, but..._

"So do you want to go flambé some Voldy-butt and say hi to your mum, or not?"

Harry imagined Voldemort going up in flames and grinned. "Why not?"

xXxXx

_Foosh._ A column of flames enveloped the blackened skeleton.

"What's with the fire coming out of nowhere?" Ginny wondered aloud.

The tiger turned human. "The first time was my husband showing off," Mrs. Potter answered. "The second time was my son experimenting."

"Huh?" Ginny said eloquently. _(Harry?)_

_(Ginny?)_ was the immediate response. Not angry, not scared, though the next part was in a fearful tone. _(Please say you're not staying here.)_

_(I don't want to argue that right now. What's with the fireworks?)_

Confusion. _(Fireworks?)_

Ginny played the last few minutes on fast-forward for Harry—the fight with Voldemort, Harry's mother's intervention, the fireball, more fighting, then the fire that was dying now, leaving only a heap of ash.

_(I—wow. I didn't know I was doing that.)_

_(So your mother told me. Now will you please come back here so you can say hi to her before I haul your skinny behind **out** of here? He's well and truly and quite thoroughly dead, you have absolutely no excuses for staying...)_

_(So I've been told. Look left.)_

Ginny looked. A stag was galloping up, a familiar thin figure riding it. Harry slid off before the stag came to a halt, then ran straight for his mother.

"Well, isn't this a touching scene," remarked Mr. Black's voice behind Ginny. "A little birdie told us the girls had a snake-man problem. Was he not telling us the truth, or did you lot solve the problem already?"

"We solved it," said the man standing where the stag had just been. He looked, Ginny noticed, remarkably like a taller Harry, even down to the type of glasses. "Lily distracted him while I explained a few things to Harry, I took advantage of a chance to nail him with a big freaking fireball, and Harry—probably not entirely intentionally—fooshed him."

xXxXx

"Fooshed him," Danger repeated.

James waved a hand at the pile of ash. Another column of fire shot up with a _foosh_. "Yeah. Fooshed him."

"I think this is another thing I do not want to ask about," Aletha commented.

"Ah, you know all the answers already," James answered. "Speaking of answers, you should go back into Healer training, really. To quote Gideon Prewett, 'If it hadn't happened, I wouldn't believe she was stupid enough to give up on her dream because of one failure. Particularly given that she couldn't have saved either of us anyway, and _especially_ given how much good she could have done if she'd become a Healer.'"

Aletha stared.

"Letha, come here," Lily said, beckoning with the hand that wasn't holding Harry tight.

Aletha went.

James came over to Sirius and Danger, looking first at her. "Tell your husband to get off his arse and make somewhere for Harry to go back to."

Danger's eyes swirled blue. "You may not have noticed, Prongs," Remus's voice said as Danger's lips moved, "but we're pretty sure he's dead..."

"You're not usually slow, Remus. You just used this skill this morning. Go look around Letha's back yard for inspiration."

"If you say so," Remus answered through Danger, sounding entirely unconvinced. Danger's eyes returned to mostly brown.

"There's someone I want you to remember," James continued, looking at Sirius and Danger both. "Two someones. Harry's little sister and Frank and Alice's second son."

Sirius blinked. "What are you saying?"

James looked away for a moment. "Lily was six weeks pregnant on Halloween. She hadn't figured it out yet. Alice, the same on Christmas. You know what the Cruciatus Curse does to pregnant women."

"Causes miscarriages," Sirius said, nodding. "Remind me to throttle Trixie—poor kid never had a chance—"

"We'll remember them," Danger said. "Your daughter and your friends' son."

"Thank you." James turned to Sirius. "Keep an eye on him for me."

"As if I could do any less," Sirius answered, trying not to choke up. "God, James—I'm sorry—"

"Shut up. Peter did a damn fine job of talking you into it. And for what it's worth, I forgive you. So does Lily."

"It's worth a hell of a lot," Sirius said through the fist-sized lump in his throat.

"Good."

xXxXx

"James is dead serious," Lily pointed out.

Aletha snorted.

"Er, bad choice of words. He means it. Gideon goes off on regular rants about the idiocy of your career choice. You should go back into Healer training. And while you're studying, you may want to think about the fact that lycanthropy is classified as a curse for good reason, and Remus is living proof that the curse is not inherently fatal. The same for Alice and Frank and the Cruciatus, though you'll want a different approach to help them, and don't waste any effort trying to keep their son from helping you help them. Don't bother trying to keep Meghan out of it, either. Oh, and when you were thinking your patient looked like Harry would if he'd grown up in Azkaban, you were right on the money."

"If you know the answers," Aletha said dryly, "could you perhaps be a tiny bit less cryptic?"

Lily shook her head, smiling secretively. "Sorry. Rules. Granted we're breaking a great many of them simply by having this conversation...speaking of which, Harry." He looked up at her, not pulling out of the hug. "If you ever, _ever_ again try anything as stupid, idiotic, and potentially harmful as what you pulled to get here, you're grounded for the next thousand years. Grounded as in feet glued to the ground, which means no flying and no exploring, and trust me, there is a great deal to explore."

"Like I could," Harry mumbled.

"Please," Lily said on a sigh, "do not tell me that you're still under the impression that you're dead."

"You mean I'm not?" Harry asked, sounding half disappointed, half hopeful.

"No. You're not."

xXxXx

_This isn't fair,_ Hermione thought. _I'm glad for Harry, of course I'm glad for Harry—he never knew his parents, and now he's met them—and I had my parents for most of fourteen years, so it's horribly selfish of me even to think—but I wish—_

"Hermione," Mrs. Potter said. Hermione looked up. "Your father wants you to have fun and live life. Your mother wants you to keep up with your studies. I suggest you stick with Ron and Harry, they'll be sure to keep you from doing too much of one and not enough of the other."

"Tell them I love them and I'll miss them," Hermione whispered, unable to speak louder.

"They know."

xXxXx

_(So how do you like the idea of living life in my head?)_ Ginny asked.

_(Nothing against you, or anyone, but I don't like it much at all.)_ Harry shivered. _(I know Dad said I wasn't hurting you, which means I won't be hurting you, but I can't help thinking—)_

_(Never mind thinking,)_ Ginny interrupted, laughing. _(Look at Padfoot—something tells me he has absolutely no respect for Moldy-smarts—)_

Harry looked, and burst out laughing.

xXxXx

Remus cursed as a flaw in the bark of the tree he was transfiguring burst open. He pressed the edges of the wound together with his free hand, muttered a basic healing spell, and picked up the transfiguration where he'd left off, and then noticed the dark stain on the paleness. _Forgot I was all bloody._

_Oh well. It's Harry's blood anyway. Can't hurt anything._

xXxXx

James clapped once to get everyone's attention. "All right, you lot. Everybody home before the kids pass out."

"But I'm not sleepy," Harry protested. Danger snickered at his almost spot-on imitation of an overtired four-year-old—almost spot-on because he was clearly trying not to laugh.

"Go home," Lily said, waving them in the general direction from which Danger had come. "We'll still be here when you come back, which had better not be for another hundred years at least."

"You big three may want to carry the little three," James suggested.

"I'm fine," Harry said, stepping away from Lily with obvious reluctance and promptly stumbling and landing face-first in the dirt.

"Fine, nothing," Sirius said, hauling Harry up. "See you later, Prongs, Lily."

"Come on, Neenie," Danger said, going over to Hermione.

"I'll take Ginny, then," Aletha told nobody in particular.

"Oh, Ginny, before you go..." Lily said casually. Danger pricked up an ear. "You know the story of Sleeping Beauty, right? When you get back, think about that with the gender roles reversed."

Judging by the shade of red Danger could see out of the corner of her eye, Ginny was thinking about it now.

xXxXx

"This is just plain freaky," Ron said, looking from the dead Harry on the sofa to the unconscious Harry in Mr. Lupin's arms.

"You're telling _me_," Mr. Lupin said with feeling, putting Harry down between Ginny and Ron, who scooted over to make room. "I find out my dream girl's real and so's our dream son, I find out my dead friend is alive and my traitor friend was loyal all along, I get caught up in an impossible quest for the Unholy Grails, I find out who my son's biological father is—"

"Who?" Alex asked.

"Later, when we have time to discuss it properly—I'm involved in the killing of many dementors, when no one knew killing them was possible—now I'm waiting for the return to life of someone the resident Healer confirmed dead—"

"Know what'd make this hilarious?" Alex asked.

"No, I can't say I do..."

"If today was Easter."

Mr. Lupin sputtered.

Hermione stirred and blinked hazel eyes. "They're coming back. They're _all_ coming back."

Ron whooped.

Mrs. Danger was next to wake, sitting up only to fall against Mr. Lupin, then Ms. Letha. "Your backyard's missing a sapling," Mr. Lupin informed her. Mr. Black transformed into the big black dog before waking up, amusing everyone. Then Ginny opened brown eyes, then blinked, and her eyes were green, blinked again, and rolled over and kissed Harry.

_What—but—she—he—_

xXxXx

_(I think you just broke your brother,)_ Harry observed. _(Broke me too, I can't even see straight—)_

Ginny pulled back. "Someone toss me Harry's glasses."

_(Oh.)_

Harry took the glasses, jammed them on his nose, and looked around. _(Ugh—I look horrible.)_

_(Think that's maybe because you cut your **arm** off?)_

_(Hey, it worked.)_ Harry concentrated, and what had been his body went up in flames, startling everybody. A moment later, there was nothing but ash. The sofa wasn't even scorched. _(I could get used to this.)_

_(Don't, please, I don't want this to happen again—)_

_(Me neither.)_

The blue glow around Meghan was fading, Harry noticed, and she was quietly singing along to the radio. "'Cause when we're torn apart, shattered and scarred, love has the grace to save us, we're just two tarnished hearts, when in each other's arms, we become saints and angels..."

Sirius barked loudly. Meghan jerked and fell over.

_(Oof.)_ Harry adjusted his position so that Meghan's head wasn't on top of anything bony.

"I vote," Letha said shakily, "that everything that happened this week that nobody'd believe happened, never happened."

"Better idea," Harry said sleepily. "Rewrite last week so it's believable, then say today never happened."

Danger glanced at the clock. "It's five minutes into Friday."

"Fine, Thursday never happened."

"Works for me," Hermione said on a yawn.

"Will it bother anyone if I go to sleep right here?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Don't you dare move," Meghan said tiredly. "You're a good pillow."

"I don't wanna get up either," Danger said, snuggling into Remus.

"Fine, everybody sleep on the floor," Letha grumbled.

Sirius was suddenly human again, stretching out on the carpet. "Why should you? You can sleep on me."

For some reason, everyone started laughing as if that was the funniest joke ever told.

A/N: Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


	21. Hurlyburly's Done

Disclaimer: Except for a few characters borrowed with permission from whydoyouneedtoknow, this is Jo Rowling's beach, and she has been kind enough to allow persons such as myself to play here. All I'm laying claim to is the design of this sand castle.

**When the Wind is Southerly**

by MercuryBlue

Chapter 21: Hurlyburly's Done

_Ding._

Harry put the books he held in their proper place on the shelf, then headed for the door. "Hi, welcome to Foyles Books," he recited to the two people who'd just come in, "is there anything I can help you find today?"

Then he looked at the customers.

_(Please say I'm seeing things.)_

_(If you're seeing a fat lady and a fat ugly guy, then you're seeing exactly what I'm seeing,)_ Ginny answered. _(Don't you have work to do? And I want to talk to Luna. I've almost got her to admit to who she's been sneaking off to see.)_

"Dudley needs a copy of _Macbeth_," the woman boomed. Harry winced. Yes, it was definitely who he thought it was. _So much for never having to see Aunt Marge again._ "And I hear this is the only store in Britain with autographed copies of Valentina Jett's _Happy Ending_."

"Actually, we're the only store in the world with autographed Valentina Jett novels," Harry corrected. "They're displayed in the romance section, over there—" He pointed. "And sir, the Shakespeare is in with the literature, thataway—" He indicated the appropriate direction.

She took two steps, then turned and gave Harry a piercing glance. "I know who you remind me of. My brother's brat of a nephew. Potter."

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry said stiffly. _(Why the hell am I getting so mad?)_

_(Who's this?)_ Ginny asked.

_(Uncle Vernon's sister. She had a positive gift for driving me up the wall.)_

Marge nodded sharply. "Glad to see you found a way to contribute to society, instead of burdening everyone else, like your father did..."

"I do not appreciate you slandering my father," Harry said quietly, clenching a fist. "Is there anything else I can help you with, ma'am?"

_(Still has a positive gift for driving you up the wall, I see,)_ Ginny observed.

_(Shut up.)_

Marge eyed him. "I'll be sure to tell the manager of this store that he may want to rethink his hiring decisions. Though perhaps he was simply desperate for an extra set of arms, if he was fool enough to hire _you_. It won't surprise me at all if you end up out on the street—you're as worthless as your parents—"

"I am proud," Harry said with all the calmness he could muster, "to be my parents' son. Now, is there anything else I can help you with, or may I return to my job now?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead turning and walking away. "I'm going on break," he snapped to Hermione as he passed the counter. Once he was safely in the back room away from everyone's eyes, he took a deep breath, concentrating, and filled the room with fire.

Five minutes later, he was calm enough to let the fire die, leaving everything unscorched. _(You **were** mad,)_ Ginny commented.

_(I don't know what the hell it is about her, but every time she starts in on Mum and Dad, I manage to keep my temper for about thirty seconds. Except when Sirius came for me, but I was distracted. I don't even get this mad this fast when Malfoy insults my parents.)_

_(I was about to tell you what Luna told me, because it'd distract you nicely, but on second thought I don't think you want to hear it.)_

_(No, tell me.)_

_(Well, Luna's dating—no, I don't think you want to know.)_

_(You've only made me curious, you realize.)_

_(Yeah, I know...but you see, she's been sneaking out to London and spending the night with the Tonkses...)_

Harry blinked. _(The Tonkses. As in Meghan's Aunt Andromeda.)_

_(The Tonkses as in Andromeda,)_ Ginny confirmed. _(Who is not just Meghan's aunt.)_

_(You know, I knew Luna's crazy, but this takes crazy to a whole new level.)_

Ginny laughed. _(She says he has hidden depths.)_

_(Yeah, I'd like to see hidden depths with him,)_ Harry muttered. _(I'd like to throw him off a bridge and let him explore his hidden depths...)_

xXxXx

Aletha flicked her wand around her study, returning all the books she'd been using to their shelves. "There's half next year's curriculum sorted," she said in satisfaction. "And I can get the other half tomorrow, when I can discuss it with Remus." Hogwarts students had been discovering for the last four years just how interesting, and interconnected, the subjects of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts could be when properly taught.

_Not to mention how fast both of them change. _Aletha looked at her reflection in the window and widened her eyes in pretend astonishment. _Why, when Remus started teaching, lycanthropy was still considered incurable!_ She winked at herself, and at the others she knew were watching her somewhere. _Contrary to popular opinion, I **can** take a hint._

Her mind returned to her job as Potions professor at Hogwarts, a post she'd shared for two years with the mysteriously magically crippled Severus Snape to let her finish her Healer's training, then taken over completely as of two years ago. She didn't think it was either egotistical or unrealistic to notice that during the time she had been teaching Potions, and Remus Defense (a position he'd held for a record four years and showed no signs of ever wanting to leave), the number of Auror applicants had jumped dramatically.

_Including, to Sirius's eternal dismay, our daughter's boyfriend. Though I think it's just the fact that our daughter **has**_ _a boyfriend, rather than who it is, that bothers him._ Neville Longbottom, after all, was the very definition of respectable, just as his father and mother were.

_And with them back in action and showing him all the sides of the profession, it's not as if he's making an uninformed decision. Besides, the war is over, and we're unlikely to get any more Dark Lords around here for a while, not after Voldemort disappeared without a trace. Any young Dark wannabe has to take that into account—where did he go? What happened to him? And could it happen to me?_

xXxXx

Ginny dove around the Slytherin Chaser, stole the Quaffle from his hands, and threw it straight at Harry. It slammed into his chest with all the force of a Bludger. "Didn't—have to—throw it—that hard," he gasped out, and passed back to Ginny.

The inability to breathe did not go away.

_(Dammit,)_ Harry grumbled. _(What now?)_

_(How should I know?)_

_(Right. Waking up now.)_ Harry closed his eyes, then opened them to a room dark with night. Alex's usual quiet snores were absent—_oh yeah, he went to spend the night playing video games with Matt—ogle Matt's pretty sister, more like_—so the only sound was quiet breathing six inches above his nose. _(Well, that explains that.)_ "Hello, Toodles. Would you please get off of me? I kind of like breathing..."

The weight shifted off of him, but there was no other reaction. Harry sat up and grabbed his glasses, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. There was, he discovered, precisely one shape of the right size to be a three-year-old, and that one was sitting on his bed. "Wait a minute, you can't be a Toodles. There's only one of you."

A giggle, quickly silenced.

"What's up, My?" Harry asked.

"Mark's dreaming again."

Harry sighed. 'Mark's dreaming' meant only one thing. _(Why does she always come to me?)_ he wondered. _(She goes right past Sirius and Letha's room, she goes right past Meghan and Hermione's room, she comes right up to Remus and Danger's room, she passes Alex, and she comes straight to me. Every single time Marcus has a nightmare when I'm home, she comes straight to me.)_

_(Maybe she thinks you get too much sleep. How you can, I don't know, when most every waking moment we're studying so I can take the N.E.W.T.s with you so we don't have to deal with us going nuts after three days apart again, but maybe she thinks you get too much sleep. Now will you shut up so I can get enough?)_

_(Okay, okay...)_ "Lead the way."

Maya jumped off the bed and ran to the doorway, down the hall through the hidden archway to the Black side of the Marauders' Den, a little further down the hall, then right and left into the second bedroom, quite as large as the first thanks to magic, straight to her brother's bedside, with Harry following close behind, flicking on the twins' light as he passed it. Mark was tossing around and moaning, which didn't surprise Harry at all. They were all used to Mark's nightmares by now, even if hardly anyone quite believed, or wanted to believe, Letha's idea about why he got them.

Harry scooped up the toddler and hugged him tight. "Mark," he said quietly. "Mark. Come on, wake up. Mark. Listen to me. You're dreaming. Mark."

Mark stirred and blinked brown eyes, then buried his face in Harry's shirt and started crying.

"What's wrong, Mark?" Harry asked, rubbing Mark's back. "What did you see?"

"Me ghost-man again," Mark said between sniffles. "Didn't like you. Fought you. Hurt you. Avva-kedavva. Ginny an' baby. Didn't like them. Wanted to hurt baby. Told her to move. She didn't move. Avva-kedavva. You wake me up."

Harry, practiced at translating Mark-speak, had no trouble interpreting 'me ghost-man' as 'I was seeing through Voldemort's eyes', and of course 'Avva-kedavva' was a three-year-old's way of saying 'Avada Kedavra', but the rest wasn't so clear. _If he's attaching names to the dream victims, then they must have been clear enough to be sort-of recognizable to him—the one he thinks is me must be a tall black-haired man, and 'Ginny's' a redhead woman, with a kid littler than Mark is..._

_Oh no._

"I'm here," Harry said quietly. "I'm here. I'm all right. Ginny's at the Burrow, you'll see her tomorrow, she's fine too. Everybody's fine, everything's all right. It's just a dream."

_Except it's not..._

"Mark, look," Harry said, and snapped his fingers, conjuring a fireball, which he drew the heat from and handed to Maya as a toy. A second snap summoned a second fireball, which he shaped into a myriad of different things, attracting and holding Mark's attention. The trick, as always, was to keep the creativity far enough ahead of Mark's attention span for long enough that the nightmare could be pushed to the back of his mind.

"Tell abou' angel again?" Maya asked, stretching her fireball between her hands.

"Okay." Harry shaped Mark's fire into a girl with wings, then made her soar around the room. "There's a special angel up in the sky whose most important job is watching over Toodles. Her name is Sarah, and she would have been my baby sister, except that my mummy died before Sarah could get born. So Sarah decided to watch over the baby sister and brother I did get. And that's my Toodles." He rubbed the top of Mark's head, then reached down to squeeze Maya's shoulder. "My very own..." The words were overtaken by a huge yawn.

"Harry sleepy?" Mark asked, looking up.

"Yes. Harry very sleepy." Harry snapped his fingers, putting out the flames. Maya pouted, and Mark sighed as his 'angel' disappeared. "Sorry, Toodles. Maybe we can do more fire tomorrow."

"Sarah's gone," Mark said sadly.

"No, Sarah's not gone. She's still here. You just can't see her." Harry made room on his lap for Maya and cuddled both twins against him. "She'll always be here. Just like Meghan's friend Neville will always have his angel named William. Always there, and always watching over you."

"I like Sarah," Maya said sleepily.

"Me too." Mark yawned.

Harry rearranged the three of them and lay down between the twins, who cuddled up to him, one on either side. The bed wasn't big enough for him, really, but he wasn't about to carry them both back to the other side of the house, Mark was already going sleepy again, and it wasn't like he hadn't slept there before.

"Sweet dreams, Toodles," Harry whispered. "Sweet dreams."

xXxXx

This story is not yet over, of course. No story ever truly ends. Every day the characters live on is a continuation of the story. Even if a storyteller concludes the tale with the words "rocks fall, everyone dies", the story is not over, though perhaps what follows is beyond human imagining.

But there are many, many stories, added to a little every day, that are no different in most respects from the stories of the people I write of. The parents of twins, for example, can easily envision Sirius and Aletha's story from its similarities to their own. This story is more complicated than most, because of who their son was, but the differences go no further than Marcus's nightmares of enjoying hurting people and consequent aversion to hurting people, and are not significant enough to speak of any further. Similarly, Shakespeare wrote of Benedick and Beatrice with more skill than I could bring to telling the story of Ronald and Hermione. It is only the setting of this play and the faces of its players that have changed.

Then, of course, there are the stories that brush the edges of other stories. Many of the major characters in the story I have told you are minor characters in another story, equal in complexity. But I do not care to tell stories in which the major conflicts are political in nature, and the tale of Draco and Luna Malfoy and Alexander and Amanda Lupin and the ending of much of the wizarding world's prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-borns is not, I believe, a tale you care to hear.

There is nothing, then, I can speak of to continue this tale that your own imagination cannot supply. Perhaps your telling of the story shall differ from the truth in the details, but perhaps not. And so this story has come as close as any story ever can come to

**The End**

A/N: Well, this was a fun ride. Doubly so after that left turn past Albuquerque round about chapter six. All questions should have been answered by now. Anything else, ask in reviews, I'll answer. Now to find another runaway train of thought to jump aboard...

Reviews are good. Flames are bad. Praise is nice. Constructive criticism is preferred. Questions are welcomed. Proper grammar is appreciated. Email addresses are required if you want a reply. Clear enough?


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